Anonymous said: Jem has a few doubts after Mandy is born.
Author’s note: Missing scene from A Breath of Snow and Ashes, a little time after Amanda was born.
Mo gràdh ort, mo ghille (My Love On You, My Son)
by @monisse
June, 1776
Jem Mackenzie sighed again and made the small wood wheels turn faster on the new car his dad had made him. It’s a vroom, Dad had said a few years ago, the first time he ever placed a toy car on his eagerly waiting hands.
It took a long while after that, but his dad eventually explained what they were, how they worked and that, where he came from, real cars traveled on smooth, black roads all over the world, and much faster than horses. He told him how Mama used to have a blue one she adored. That day, with their heads so close together that long black hair mingled with red, they had talked in whispers, as if possessing a secret that no one else should know. Jem remembered feeling giddy, not only because that new vroom was an improved version of past incarnations lost forever to the woods of the Ridge, but because his dad had made a second car for himself and they had played together for hours, laughing and racing them on the wood floors that Mama had just swept.
Jem was now by himself with that same car, sitting on the porch floor, the Big House shielding him from the light rain that had started to fall. With the heat of the season fast approaching summer levels, that sort of weak pour seemed to evaporate even before hitting the ground. On any other day he would gladly have been under it, tongue sticking out to savor the warm showers, but today he remained watching life go by from afar, with no will to play. Germain had left, gone to live with his parents in New Bern, and suddenly the days seemed longer than before with one less friend to keep him company.
The wheels kept spinning as his mama and grannie came into view, coming off the main road. Even from a distance, Jem was surprised at how tall they were, taller than many of the women he knew. They always towered above him, sometimes ready to kneel to his level and envelop him in a warm embrace, other times standing straight and looking down in reprimand. He often felt small in comparison to them, even to the rest of his family and the world itself. Inside, he knew it would not always be that way, but time was not passing fast enough for him to grow as tall as his dad and no longer having to feel small and helpless as he felt now.
He observed his mama carrying the small bundle in her arms, made of soft blankets and his sister, delicate and new. Maybe to Mama she really was the most precious, and as quiet and small as his sister was, she was already the center of all attention. He observed in silence how Grannie leaned towards the blankets and made a silly face followed by a wide smile. Jem did not understand what was supposed to be so fun about babies. In his view, they only cried, ate, and slept without even saying a word. Except Mandy did not cry so much, and every time he peered inside the cot, she was asleep in a way that was entirely too quiet. Sometimes the tips of her fingers turned a light shade of blue, so did her lips, and he was often tempted to shake her to see if she was still breathing. Maybe that was why his parents, and even Grannie and Grandda, seemed to surround her all the time.
With all eyes on the baby, and even though there was no shortage of happiness in the family for her arrival, Jem knew something was not right with Mandy the moment she was born. And yet, no one seemed to have spare time to tell him. In the weeks that went by after his sister’s birth, all faces around him had slowly changed to a picture of sadness, gaining permanent wrinkles between their eyes and tremors on their lips. Late at night, when everyone thought he was asleep, he heard the softness of Mama’s cries and Dad’s soothing her in a raspy voice, low in his throat, but filled with love as he held her in his arms. Jem saw his family become quiet as time went by, and with each new day, his mother held the baby just a little bit closer to her chest, as if Mandy was soon to evaporate like a cloud in the wind.
To a certain point he understood why. Soon after Mandy was born, Jem felt a warmness settle in his chest, unexpected and wholly new, dropping into him and spreading like a bead of Mama’s dyes in water, all the way up to his head. It made him wonder how he had lived without it for so long. When he had heard her cry for the first time he knew he was not alone, not really, and would never be again. Not knowing what it was, he at least knew it grew stronger and brighter whenever he was close to Mandy, pulling him towards her even when he did not want to be around. And along with that came the unsettling feeling that her wee heart was damaged, and struggling slowly.
Jem kept near his parents, and even though they still held him close and he adored his sister, he could neither shake the feeling that she was consuming all their attention, nor that uncomfortable poking of loneliness.
Alerted by the sound of steps in the distance, Jem turned to watch his dad walk down the path towards his mother and Grannie in large paces, looking eager to reach them as quickly as possible. He kissed Mama’s forehead first and she smiled immediately. Jem smiled as well without realizing, his small mouth spreading involuntarily as if he was an extension of his mother’s happiness in that moment. Then, his dad kissed her lips and even though it was a common occurrence, Jem felt he was intruding on a private moment by the way her lips lingered on his a little longer than usual in front of others. In the end, his dad leaned in and placed a last kiss on Mandy’s dark hair, which made her spread her arms towards him.
Mandy already looked a lot more like Dad than he did, despite the blue eyes they both shared. As he passed a hand through his red hair, he wished there was something in him that was more like his dad, and maybe he would not have all these doubts in his mind.
“There ye are.”
He was startled by the sound of his dad’s voice, a little too rough in his throat, and suddenly Jem was assaulted by the memory that it had not always been so. In the distance, his mama and grannie walked away, disappearing fast into the greens and browns of the tall trees, taking Mandy with them.
“Daddy?” It was only a small question, though there was a little tremble in his voice throughout, and it came out as he stared at the wood car, now motionless in his small hands.
“Yes, a bhalaich?” His dad said while sitting down on the porch next to him.
Deep inside, there was a part of him that knew it would never be true, but as the circle around his sister became closer and closer, he felt more and more left out. “Are ye going to forget me now?”
“Why would ye think that?” He placed a large hand on Jem’s back, turning his small body towards him. “Jemmy?”
“Because of wee Mandy.”
Again, an uncomfortable feeling moved through him, like a million ants traveling all at once over the surface of his skin. It felt odd to say it out loud, and his cheeks burned red and hot in embarrassment.
He was a big brother now, his dad had said so, speaking in a serious tone just after Mandy was born. It was a concept he could not quite match with the feelings of protection towards her that were just as strong as the wish that she was never born. That way, Jem thought, he would still have his parents all to himself, in a quiet harmony between the three of them. With no tears, no fear.
His dad’s hand moved to one of his shoulders and rested there. “Jem, be assured that my heart is big enough for both you and Mandy. Ye dinna have to worry about that.”
Jem did not reply and, still filled with uncertainty, only stared into the clear green eyes of his dad.
“I know yer mam and I have been a little absent because yer sister is sick and we are very worried about her, but it doesna mean we are forgetting you or love you any less than before.”
Jem nodded quietly, allowing the words to sink in, and while they did help calm his anxiety, another thought came to his mind, uninvited. He averted his eyes, watching the trees move with the wind and feeling the earth become alive with the smell of flowers and wet pine trees. His face turned into a frown and his next words came out before he was able to stop them.
“Germain once said ye were not here when I was born, but ye’re here for her. Were you not worried about me?”
The words hung loose in the air between them until Jem heard a groan deep in his dad’s throat, despite the discomfort it caused. As Jem glanced beside him, he saw pain twist his dad’s face, one which he had not seen before.
“No, I was not, by no choice of mine, but I came for you. I will always come for you.” His dad urged him to look towards him again. “And ye were such a braw lad, big and strong since the day ye were born. I loved ye from the first time I held ye and that will never change. Ye’re my son, alright?”
“But I don’t even look like you, and she does!” Jem exclaimed, matter-of-fact, and a little too loud, startling the otherwise peaceful birds nearby into flight.
“Ye may have yer mam’s hair and eyes, but you and I are more alike than ye think,” his dad said with a little smile, his features entirely relaxed now.
“How?”
“We both like cars, for example,” he said, pointing to the wood car in Jem’s little hands.
“What else?” Jem’s eyes were open wide now with interest and he felt himself smile again, on the verge of excitement to know more.
“We can both run really fast, even faster than yer mam.” His dad leaned closer. “Especially when she’s mad at us, but dinna tell her I said that.”
Jem could only giggle in reply, the laughter rolled freely out of him as it had not happened in a long while. He felt a little more at ease with himself knowing that he was not forgotten and just as much part of his parents as his sister was. Slowly, and further encouraged by the sound of his dad’s own laughter, the doubts that had been on his mind were fading away.
“And we also have the same spot on our head!” Jem shouted with pride, while pointing a finger at his own head, entirely oblivious to the fact that his dad had been constantly aware of their shared mark ever since it was discovered.
He was immediately swept into a strong embrace, the familiar warmth of his dad seeping through him and resetting his heart to a steady beat.
Jem heard him whisper in his ear, “Aye, we do, mo ghille. And I can never forget you.”
Anonymous said: What was it like, in Voyager, for Brianna to decide to travel through the stones if Claire didn’t do it?
Part 1
Our Farewell - Part 2 / 2
by @monisse
Roger froze at the door, quite involuntarily. Her question fell upon him like a rush of cold water, immobilizing his muscles and making it difficult to breathe, let alone for his heart to keep beating.
“To the stones, I mean.” Brianna elaborated further.
Even with his back turned to her, he could detect the faint pang of regret in her voice, and he wondered briefly if she had meant to ask if he would go through the stones with her. Blood started to flow in his body again, encouraged by the quickening of his heart.
Throughout the whole ordeal, from discovering the stones had otherworldly, time traveling properties, to learning Claire’s story, finding Jamie alive, and then realizing he too had the ability to go back in time, Roger had thought of the possibilities. He entertained the idea of running as fast as he could towards the tallest stone on Craigh na Dun, hoping not to slam against the hard surface, but to be transported to a reality he only knew from his studies. And in the first second after her question had floated unanswered in the space between them, he contemplated again leaving his life behind, the stuffy rooms and old books, and seeing history with his own eyes. There was a part of him that resisted the passive life of a professor. Being an observer of events instead of an active player had been the path of least resistance. There was nothing holding him here, in this time, and this life. He had no living kin and only a handful of friends to miss him. Besides, how could a historian deny the chance to see the past when it was only a touch on a stone away?
He turned around finally, and his eyes landed on her, sitting on the bed. Her face was stripped of the layers she always crafted so masterfully to conceal her thoughts. Her features were now soft, giving her a childlike air. Her vulnerability lay bare with no pretense whatsoever, trusting him wholeheartedly, and fear floated on the bottomless pool of her blue eyes, inviting him to dive in.
She looked small in her dark blue pajamas, despite the imposing six feet of height. Strands of red hair were loose from the long braid she wore over her shoulder, and he wanted nothing more than to brush them aside and allow the tips of his fingers to linger on the skin of her cheek.
“Will you see me off, at least?” she pressed, the gentle tone of her voice summoning him back to reality.
“Ye really are going through with it, aren’t you?”
She nodded. “It wouldn’t be forever. I just have to find Jamie, and then I’ll come back.”
If only it were that simple. But life had taught him, quite early and unexpectedly, that the most carefully laid plans had a way of going astray very fast, and often with severe consequences. Perhaps it was a byproduct of her young age, but naïveté was shining through the cracks of what she clearly thought was a reasonable plan.
“It’s not like going on a vacation to the other side of the Atlantic, Bree.” Again, he felt the irresistible gravitation towards her, an invisible energy that seemed to magnetically control his body, and he moved to sit on the bed in front of her again.
“No, it’s not. But I’m a very capable woman, Roger. If Mama doesn’t go, I have to.”
He smiled at her confidence and strength, incredibly vivid in each word.
“I have no doubt in my mind that you can, but we’re talking about a time that was not kind to women, particularly those that travel alone. And God knows what those stones can do to a person.”
A single ruddy eyebrow suddenly lifted. “Has any time been kind to women?”
She said the words in jest, but they held a truth known, and shared, by every woman, one he could not deny. “Ach, no. But still, I can’t let ye go…”
“Roger,” she said, with finality in her voice that gave no space for further argument.
He could sit there all night, list all the possible dangers she might face, and even then, he knew Brianna would not budge; her decision had been made. To an extent, he admired that side of her, impulsive and stubborn to a fault, but determined nonetheless. Roger already knew she would always carry out her will, one way or another, and that it would, more often than not, be useless to oppose her. With an aching heart, he silenced all his arguments, and resigned himself to her choice.
His hand covered hers on top of the blanket, and he gently laced their fingers together. “I’ll take ye to the stones, if that’s what ye decide to do. The least I can do is to be there beside ye if you go.”
“Thank you.” She leaned forward and placed a kiss on his cheek, brief and sweet, catching him by surprise.
“Claire will leave early in the morning,” he said as an afterthought.
Her eyes opened wide, and a sudden flash of hurt crossed through dark blue, as she realized that her mother would leave earlier than expected, to avoid the hurtful goodbye that neither mother, nor daughter, were truly ready for.
Brianna pulled her hand away from his, crossed the bed on hands and knees to the other side, and leaned over to retrieve something from under the bed. Her arse was suddenly pointing slightly upwards, round and incredibly tempting. He clutched his fingers together in his lap, least an errant hand took on a life of its own and he made a fool of himself.
Once she came back up again, her hands were holding what appeared to be a dress in 18th century fashion, of the most horrific green lime color he had ever seen. It even had stones, shining disturbingly all over the front, and far too unnatural for today’s standards, let alone for Georgian era fashion.
She had a guilty look on her face, and he immediately realized she had been planning it for a while, without telling either him or her mother. Her premeditation disconcerted him slightly. Roger stared at the dress, briefly imagining Brianna, too tall even for today’s standards, and attracting both curious and unwanted attention in the past.
As selfish as it was, he hoped he could count on Claire going through the stones herself so Brianna would not have to. Roger did not feel ashamed by the thought, for it was only a natural yearning, growing stronger by the day, to want to protect her, to take care of her.
He sighed and rose from the bed. At a loss for words, he simply leaned down, and this time, it was he who placed a lingering kiss upon her forehead. “We better be ready before sunrise. If anything, at least ye’ll have a proper farewell.”
–”–
Brianna felt a sort of nervous energy coursing through her veins as her feet moved, quite reluctantly, up the hill. The laces on the bodice she wore were pulled tightly, noticing it too late, and her breaths became increasingly shallow, while her heart beat strongly to be free of such a tight cage. Roger was beside her, a constant reassuring presence ever since they had met, and her hand found his easily, as if he were already expecting it. They reached the circle of stones together, and were immediately hit by the echoes of the past, present, and future, blending together in an incomprehensible, haunting call from within.
She took one step forward, and then another, Roger following her stride, until they reached the central stone and stopped. The buzzing was overwhelming, and even with the nauseating feeling rising in her stomach, she still had the presence of mind to hold onto both his hands with a strength that forced him to stand his ground. His face had gone pale, and she knew he was fighting the same impulse. Brianna stood there for a brief moment, wondering if she just moved forward and crossed the cleft in the middle of the stone, would she be able to let go of his hand, or would she pull him to the past with her?
Footsteps caught her attention and she turned towards the sound. Her mother was coming up the hill, already speechless and astonished to see her there. And Brianna knew with certainty that before the sun completely rose above the horizon, one of two things would happen: either she’d lose her mother to the past forever, or she’d make the leap herself. Roger suddenly tightened his grip, sensing her on the cusp of a decision. Their eyes locked and she nodded. Not yet, she thought. There was still a little time.
Anonymous said: What was it like, in Voyager, for Brianna to decide to travel through the stones if Claire didn’t do it?
Author’s note: I took a liberty with an early appearance of Uncle Angus, the Scottie.
Our Farewell - Part 1 / 2
by @monisse
October, 1968
Inverness
Rain lashed violently at the bedroom window and Brianna observed each drop on the glass racing downwards against each other, leaving crystal clear tracks behind. In the distance, lightning illuminated the mountain peaks, and thunder galloped fast towards Inverness, though she barely noticed.
Having given up on sleep for now, she sat cross legged in the middle of the bed in one of the guestrooms of the late minister’s house. The sheets and covers were spread far and wide around her, telling a crumpled tale of the tossing and turning she had done to escape the rampant thoughts inside her mind. On her lap was a stuffed Aberdeen Scottie, once well-loved by Roger, and she absently stroked its worn-out black fur.
Tomorrow, her mother’s story would conclude in this time. A story that disrupted Brianna’s preconceived notions of logic, and forced her to adapt to a reality that existed outside the boundaries of reason. In a few hours, her mother would leave, would travel back centuries. Though Brianna made a genuine effort to support that decision, she had not yet made peace with it.
Her thoughts remained somewhat self-centered, driven by a sense of abandonment that sat heavy on her chest. And amidst the selfishness that corroded her heart, reason was almost completely shoved aside by jealousy, though she did have the decency to feel ashamed enough to not mention it, not even to Roger. The truth was, Brianna felt jealous of a man she did not know, her father, her real father, because in a few hours he would have her mother all to himself.
Not even Roger’s words from earlier, filled with both sense and empathy, had been enough to completely settle the imminent collision between reason and heart. There were still far too many doubts in her mind.
“Bree?”
His voice filled the silence of the room, and it was as if her mind had materialized him. His voice sliced through the privacy of her thoughts with that Scottish brogue, warm and smooth, and for a split-second, Brianna wondered how she could go back home, go on without hearing that melodious lilt calling her name every day.
Roger was leaning against the doorframe, staring through the partly open door. There was a look of concern across his face. His eyes, clear and alert even in the dim light of the bedside lamp, seemed to ask a myriad of questions, to which she had no clear answers. Are you alright? Certainly not. Will you ever be? No guarantees.
“Come in,” she said, “I can’t sleep anyway.”
Roger was still dressed in the clothes he’d worn all day, not having bothered to go to bed yet despite the late hour. She wondered if he, too, was having trouble digesting the choices made by her mother and all they encompassed.
He sat at the foot of the bed, the wooden bed frame creaking under his weight.
“Anything else on your mind?” he asked.
Brianna was immediately glad he asked, not sure how she would be able to tell him otherwise.
“Mama is about to leave. I think she still has doubts. Maybe because of me. It’s visible all over her face.”
Brianna had learned over the years to read the emotions on her mother’s face, fleeting glimpses of feelings she rarely voiced. Her mother’s face amplified all her thoughts, and ever since they discovered that Jamie had survived, it reflected a conflict far too great to deal with without pain. She had been confronted with the horrible truth that whatever, and whoever, she chose, she would be giving up on the other, and losing one part of her heart in the process.
“That makes sense.” Roger said, calmly. “No matter how much she wants to see Jamie again, she’s leaving her daughter behind. I canna imagine how torn she must feel.”
Brianna sighed, feeling limp and resigned. “You were right earlier. I need her, I always will, but I’m not a child anymore.” Her hand reached for his, seeking the comfort she had not allowed herself to enjoy earlier. “And I’m not alone either.”
He did not speak, but instead held her hand firmly, squeezing it back in reassurance.
“But what if she doesn’t go?” Brianna asked, her voice a whisper, finally letting out the one question that had been circling her brain for a long while, a record spinning endlessly.
“If she does not go, it will be because she wants to be here for ye. And that’ll be her choice.”
“She has to go-- it can’t just be over for them, not now, after we’ve found him. She needs to be with him and I can’t be the reason they remain apart. I can’t be that selfish,” she hissed under her breath, looking down at her lap while she picked at Uncle Angus’ ratty plaid bonnet.
The bed creaked again as Roger slid toward her, pulling her into an embrace. His arm circled her shoulders, and she leaned on him willingly. Warmth radiated from his body and steadied her. Maybe it should bother her how easily he reached for her these days, but the truth was that she craved his touch just as much, despite the multiple warnings her mind produced. Too much. Too fast. Too soon.
“You know, I could never figure out how much I was like Daddy. It was never the mannerisms, and certainly not the hair.” She chuckled, but there was no hint of humor in her voice. “Now I know I could never be exactly like him, no matter how much I loved him, not even if I followed in his footsteps.”
He turned to look at her, but she averted her eyes. She spoke again, this time with only a slight tremble to her words.
“That man, Jamie, my father,” her voice caught on the word, “has spent his life wondering if his wife and child made it safely through the stones. He deserves to know, Roger. And if Mama can’t make that decision, I will make it for her. I owe it to myself to know where I came from, too.” Her voice had become stronger as she spoke, though it was not the longing for a father that moved her. No, she had known a father’s love all her life and was glad for it. She was moved instead by the curiosity to know the man who captured her mother’s heart completely, and a strange sense of duty to tell him they were alive.
“What d’ye mean by that?” he asked. And as close as they were, she felt his heartbeat quicken under his woolen sweater.
She went on after a moment of silence, her tone close to a whisper, determined. “I’ll go through the stones myself to find him.”
His reaction was immediate. He stood up from the bed quickly and looked down at her, green eyes wide open in shock and anger. Maybe fear. “No Bree, ye canna do that.”
“Why not? We both know that I could do it.”
“We also know it’s dangerous!” he nearly shouted.
“It’s dangerous for me, but not for my mother? What kind of double standard is that, Roger?” Her voice rose to match his, defiant and aflame with irritation. She had been prepared to be met with resistance, but had not anticipated the strength of his reaction, how it would feel.
“That’s not what I meant.” His hands came up in the air in frustration as he started pacing the room.
Brianna swung her long legs from the bed in an elegant move for someone so tall, and her bare feet landed on the floor with a soft thud. She crossed the distance between them in a single stride and pulled him to face her. Her face glowed with barely contained anger, turning into a brilliant red that masked the freckles across her cheeks.
“Then what?” she roared.
His hands closed around her upper arms with such desperation that she had to bite her lower lip not to yelp from both pain and surprise. She was rooted in place by his firm grip, forced to look at the fire that burned freely in his eyes, and she observed, completely fascinated, how that desperation had transformed his usually soft expression. His jaw was clenched, and even his olive skin, not usually prone to flushes, had acquired a faint red hue.
“Yer mother has done it before! She is going back to find the love of her life and I canna-“
Lose mine, her mind completed. The thought caught her off guard. It seemed too soon for such an assumption, even though she could not deny the tenderness growing between them, beyond mere friendship, an attraction that kept pulling them slowly towards each other.
“You can’t what?” she demanded through gritted teeth, daring him. There was a side of her that wanted to probe his veiled words and touches, to truly know what feelings lay underneath. Her question echoed on the walls and came back to her ears sounding desperate for confirmation.
His mouth opened, though no sound came out, and for the first time since they met, she saw him at a loss for words. Roger attempted several times over, failing each time. Eventually, he sighed and gave up, his feelings not yet ready to be acknowledged.
Perhaps he sensed that she wasn’t ready, either.
They breathed together for a moment, his grip on her arms loosening as they both became aware of how close they stood. How, with a slight shift of their heads, they just might…
“Look, Bree,” he said, his voice quiet as he started to let her go, “this is not a decision ye can make on impulse. Ye should get some rest, and we’ll talk about it in the morning, aye?”
Her eyes flashed. “This isn’t just a whim, Roger. If my mother doesn’t go, I will go to Edinburgh to find my father, whether you want me to or not. He deserves to know.”
Brianna loosened her arms from him and moved across the floor to the bed again. She took a moment to arrange the sheet and blankets around her neatly, though she watched him from the corner of her eye. He walked towards the door, shaking his head as he went.
“Will you come with me?”
It was her unfiltered, irrational side that spoke as she decided to test his limits, to understand how far he was willing to go for her.
Roger froze at the door, his stillness betraying the energy from the charged question, and for a moment, the room remained silent. But the answer was there, while thunder roared in the sky above their heads.
Catch up on previous installments: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5
En Même Temps - Part 6
by @theministerskat
Outer Banks, North Carolina, January 29, 1971
Brianna gazed out the passenger window of her Mustang, the Outer Banks a green and blue blur of ocean and grass as the car sped down Highway 12.
The events of the last eleven days were a jumble, blending together with all the possibilities she envisioned for them beyond the stones. An obscure reel of thoughts with no clear focus.
Trying to calm the racing in her head, she stroked her thumb along the underside of her left finger, slowly twirling the ring that sat there in a circle. It was a new habit she had picked up, touching it, reminding herself it was still real, finding comfort in the small action in a way she couldn’t quite explain. It anchored her, more than anything, representing one thing - the only thing - certain in her life.
Turning away from the coastal scenery, she peered over at Roger. Softly, he sang along to a Stone’s song on the radio, his fingertips tapping the beat on the steering wheel. She smiled, recalling the image of him unconsciously twirling his fingers about in the pocket of his trousers, playing with the ring for all those weeks, and wondered if it had brought him the same kind of solace it now brought her.
She leaned her head back against the window, glancing out it again. The emerald stone was warm when she ran her finger over it, and tilting her hand slightly, she noticed how it lit from within when the sun struck it. Its dark green color transformed to a brilliant sparkling shade, reminding her of summer in the Highlands.
A small part of her ached to be back there now; driving along the tight country roads with Roger, him prattling on about local history and landmarks, both of them laughing together without a care in the world. Had things been different, perhaps they would have honeymooned in Scotland just as her parents had. The thought suddenly occurred to her: both of her mother's honeymoons had been there; and with that came a nervous anticipation of what might await her and Roger.
Trying to ignore the complicated feelings that surfaced whenever she thought on the subject, she reached for Roger’s restless hand. He noticed her movement and took his eyes off the road for just a moment to smile at her. His hand enveloped hers, and he lifted it to his mouth. She felt the warmth of his breath as he brushed his lips over the knuckles of her fingers. He planted a second kiss where her ring sat, and a flush radiated up her arm and through her body at his touch.
He had made that same gesture of love countless times since the night he proposed, but now she was reminded of how he had done it once they’d exchanged their vows.
The wedding had been perfect, despite how quickly it had been put together. Obtaining a marriage license on short notice had been easy, though Roger had insisted on at least trying to find a priest or minister who would be able to wed them. They eventually found a small Presbyterian church with a reverend who was free that very Saturday.
Upon their first meeting, she had noticed the older man eyeing her stomach every few minutes, as if trying to discern the slightest hint of a baby bump, an explanation for their haste. Brianna had shot daggers at him every time she caught him doing so, and Roger shook, trying to stifle his laughter at her indignation, breaking into a fit of coughs several times to cover himself.
She had worn a simple cream pantsuit, unable to find a dress that fit her properly on such short notice. Roger had donned himself in full Highland regalia - a questionable packing choice when they had left Oxford, Bree not seeing the necessity in bringing his MacKenzie tartan all the way to Boston only to be packed up in a box for storage.
But she had laughed with pure joy when he had tried it on the night before the ceremony, his face beaming with Scottish pride. Brianna had teased him over the fact that he would be the one wearing the dress at their wedding instead of her, which she quickly learned was a mistake. That comment had earned her a fifteen minute lecture on the benefits of wearing a kilt over trousers, which culminated in one of those benefits being demonstrated for her, much to her delight and pleasure.
Brianna had asked Joe to walk her down the aisle and stand in witness for them. The amount of joy and love that had exuded from him as he kissed her cheek at the altar made her heart swell for her mother’s oldest friend.
Their vows had been simple, traditional, the words hardly altered over hundreds of years. The speaking of them was like pulling a thread tenuously binding the past and present. They held that fragile thread between them now as they embarked on their journey. When the reverend had pronounced them husband and wife, Roger pulled her close, kissing her just a moment too long to be considered decent, and her head devoid of any thought beyond her new husband.
Joe and Gail had taken them out to dinner to celebrate. Joe regaled the small party with stories of Brianna as a child, drawing from the reservoir of tales Claire had shared with him over the years. It was an evening spent not with plans and preparations for the future, or past, but in the moment.
Her heart constricted as she remembered her last conversation with Joe before they parted that night.
Pulling her aside as they left the small restaurant, he wrapped her in a hug that made her feel small even as she stood two inches taller than him.
“You’re going after her, aren’t you?” Joe’s lowered voice permeated the fog of happiness Brianna was floating in, and it took her a second to process his words.
“She told you?” Brianna knew her mother had revealed the truth about Jamie Fraser to him, but she was breathless at being able to talk about it at last.
“She did.” He pulled back from her to look into her eyes, his brow creased in concern, and she didn’t try to hide the confirmation he would surely find there. “Are you sure it’s safe, Bree?”
She opened her mouth to assure him, but found no words of comfort, could not tell him the truth, even as she knew he sensed it.
“I understand why she had to do it.” A sad smile appeared on Joe’s face. “But you, you don’t have to. You know she’s happy, and you have a life here.”
“Joe.” Bree’s voice sounded desperate even to her own ears, willing him to understand. “Roger - he found something. I don’t want to worry you with the details, but I have to go.”
“And he’s going with you?”
She glanced over Joe’s shoulder and saw Roger standing beside Gail. She was chatting cheerily away in a congratulatory fashion, and he was nodding at every other word, though his eyes were focused on Brianna.
Confidence surged through her, and she realized that though they had made all these arrangements and planned for all of the situations they may face, she was still holding a sliver of doubt over what they were doing. But Roger had promised to make sure she had everything she needed to go back, and had fulfilled that promise. She felt a love for him beyond anything she had known before.
She nodded in response to Roger’s look, and Joe took it as an affirmative to his question.
“Would you have done this,” he gestured his hand about, and she understood his meaning, “If you weren’t facing a life or death decision?”
“Yes,” she said without any hesitation. “Yes.”
“Well, that makes me feel better. He looks at you like he’d be willing to take on anything to protect you. And where you’re going, you may need that.”
Brianna pulled him back into a tight embrace.
“Tell her I love her and miss her dearly.”
“I will.” Her voice cracked just a little as she unsuccessfully forced tears back. “Thank you, Joe.”
They’d left the next morning, her Mustang packed with only the things they needed for their journey. Roger made a few comments about proper weddings and decent honeymoons, but Brianna insisted that road trips made perfectly acceptable honeymoon vacations.
They drove down the Atlantic coast, taking their time, stopping in Edenton and New Bern - two possible ports they would reach after traveling through the stones. Then they made their way south to Wilmington, spending a couple of nights there to acquaint themselves with the area as much as they could, though they knew things would be different in the past. Those few days were spent in a relaxed state of mind, enjoying small touristy moments with Roger, and she was feeling more rested and at ease than she had expected as Imbolc approached.
But now they were on their way to Hatteras Island, the final stop before the stones. Roger squeezed her hand, and she turned to look at him.
“Not much further. What do ye think about just finding a place to stay and turning in early? Enough time to sort matters tomorrow.”
The sun was already starting to dip in the western sky though it was only mid-afternoon, and Bree realized how tired the car ride had made her.
“That sounds nice. I don’t think I’d be of much use to do anything else.”
He nodded, his fingers brushing over her knuckles once again. And a sudden realization swept over her.
“Roger! My ring!” Her voice was loud and panicked, causing him to snap his head down to look at her ring and then up to her face in confusion.
“What? What is it?”
“I can’t take it with me! It’ll be lost going through the stones.” She felt the tears roll down her cheeks before she even knew she was crying. The simple ring that had given her strength would be lost the moment she touched the stone.
Brianna tried to stop herself, but every worry and fear she had been trying to stamp down came flooding to the surface. She was terrified of all the things that could go wrong: not making it through, ending up in the wrong time, never being able to make it back . . . Weeks’ worth of worry released itself in a gush of emotion.
Roger let go of her hand, and she wiped furiously at the tears. He pulled the car off the road and shifted into park, and then extended his arms to pull her close to him. She let her body melt into his, thankful for the solid feel of him against her. He uttered soft Gaelic words into her hair until her cheeks were dry.
“Bree, Bree. I meant for this,” he held up her hand, indicating the ring. “I meant for this stone to be the one to see the safe through those stones.”
“You knew I wouldn’t be able to keep it?” Her voice was calmer than she expected it to be, though she felt a slight sense of betrayal on his part. “But Roger, it was your mother’s ring!”
“I know, but we need the gem to get through safely.”
“And what about you then?” It was the one she had forgotten to double check in their preparations, and she was upset but thankful that Roger had handled it.
“I have her locket for me.”
“So you’re fine with them being turned to dust?” she accused, perhaps more bitingly than she intended.
“I think she would be happy to know they were being used to see her son and his wife safe.” His mouth turned up into a sly smile when he said wife. “So, it’s fine, aye?”
She began to relax, her pulse slowing to its normal rate, and nodded in agreement.
“Yeah, okay.”
“So, let’s get to town and turn in for the night, sound good?”
“Okay.”
She stayed curled into his side the last mile of the trip, then fell into the lumpy mattress of their motel room, and finally let sleep carry her away from her worries.
Anonymous said: Imagine Ian, Roger or Young Ian fought in a war and amongst the chaos . . . [redacted].
Author’s note: Anon, I hope you don’t mind I chose not to publish the entirety of your prompt for reasons that will be come clear as we move through this story.
Blue: Prologue
by @theministerskat
January 1996
The full moon shone through a gap in the drapes, gleaming brightly across his face. The glow softly illuminated the bedroom and easily pulled him out of a restless sleep. A chill from the cold January night had permeated the room, but the small, feminine body curled into his side held off any cold he may feel.
He stared down at her, soft chestnut hair cascading over his arm beneath her and onto the pillow. She looked perfectly serene; her beauty lying in the simplicity of her features. His eyes traced the lines of her face, etching each sweep and curve into in his mind. It wasn’t to remember her, he had long been able to effortlessly recall her in his mind. This was an inventory, his way of holding himself accountable for each new wrinkle of worry she would gain in his absence.
Trying not to disturb her, he lifted his head barely an inch to peer at the clock on her nightstand. The red glow read 05:36, almost a half hour before it was set to go off. He closed his eyes, though not to sleep - he knew that would be pointless.
Instead, he slowly, carefully, disentangled himself from her warm embrace, mindfully tucking the quilt around her bare skin to keep out the cold. She didn’t wake, but her hand came out from beneath the cover, searching for him in her dreams. He wondered if she reached for him like that when he was gone, piquing his guilt over accepting this new assignment.
Their inevitable separation had loomed over them both the last week, though they hadn’t talked about it. This was the same as all the other times, and she had long ago accepted the life he had chosen for them.
He quietly padded around to her side of the bed and shut off the alarm. Darkness greeted him in the hallway and he gently shut the door behind him, feeling his way to the bathroom.
Taps turned as hot as tolerable, he submerged himself under the rushing water, his body aching with fatigue. He had pulled her close to him in the late hours of the night, one last time, willing her to feel, to know, all the things he couldn’t vocalize. With passion, she responded to him, their bodies and minds in sync. Afterwards, they held each other, exchanging small caresses and lingering touches until they could no longer deny sleep.
He dressed methodically after his shower, his Wedgwood blue shirt pressed to perfection by her the night before. A sense of honor always came over him when he wore his best blues, and it helped ease the trepidation he felt.
He dug his hand into the pocket of his trousers, pulling out the round ID disc he kept there. The stamped metal was rounded smooth from years of handling, but the MACKENZIE surname was still legible. Its pair had been buried with his father when he was still a bairn. He raised the warm metal to his lips, and sent up a silent prayer for luck, before tucking it back into his pocket.
The first signs of light were beginning to peek through the windows of the upper hall as he left the bathroom, alerting him to the encroaching hour. Making his way downstairs, he retrieved his jacket and oxfords from the hallway closet.
He sat down hard on the bench in the foyer, and it groaned under his weight. His reflection stared back at him in the reflection of his polished shoes, very much changed from when he had first joined up. She had been by his side all those years, but circumstances being what they were, he insisted on not putting her in a position of possibly becoming a war widow.
“Were ye gonna sneak out without saying goodbye?”
Her soft, sleepy morning voice pulled him from his thoughts, and he looked up. She was standing on the last step of the staircase, leaning casually against the wall.
“Never.” He finished tying the last lace on his oxfords, pulled the leg of his trouser down, and smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle out of them it.
“I want to avoid the traffic on my way to Lossie.” He stood and slipped an arm into the sleeve of his jacket, moving towards her. He got the other arm in and with a shrugging motion the jacket fell into place around his shoulders. The toes of shoes thudded against the bottom of the first step as he came to a stop in front of her. “Buchanan will drive the car back for you in the morning.”
“That’s kind of Dougie to do.” She smiled and raised her hands to perfect his tie. Even with the advantage of the stair, the top of her head fell just below his nose.
“Aye, most likely he’s just out for the sweets he knows you’ll push on him for being so kind.” She raised a questioning eyebrow at him, but he silently shook his head in answer.
She had thrown on one of his old recruit sweaters before coming downstairs, and his fingers grazed along the bottom hem.
She leaned into him then, and the warmth of her body pressed against him. He embraced her by instinct. She held him tight, her arms locked around him beneath his jacket. Her hair smelled of lavender and vanilla, with traces of linen still clinging to her from sleep.
She didn’t say a thing, nor did he. He became more aware of her body through the layers of cloth between them, and a jolt of desire shot up the backs of his legs, as though he were standing on an electric grid. He tilted her chin and set his mouth on hers.
It was a kiss that spoke all the words they had not said, one that would hold them over until his return.
After what could have been a minute or an hour, he felt the the wetness of her tears, warm on his cheeks.
“Hey, Fi, look at me.” She lifted her chin so her eyes met his. “It’s just six months, we’ve made it through longer than that, yeah?” She closed her eyes and nodded, trying to force the tears back. “I’ll no be in any danger, you know that.” A single nod from her and he continued, “I’m sorry.”
“No,” she said, removing her arms from around him. “Don’t be sorry. I am so proud of ye.” She pulled the lapels of his jacket together and began buttoning them.
“Just be safe. I know ye think just because it’s not an active fight that it’s not a war zone. But it is.” Her hands reached his jacket belt and with practiced movements fastened it for him.
When she finished, he clutched her small hands in his much larger ones. Holding tightly, he felt the diamond of her ring press deeply into his palm. Raising herself on tiptoe, she met him halfway for a final kiss.
He moved towards the door, bending to grab his rucksack and swung it over his shoulder. He turned back to her.
“I love you. I’ll be home soon.”
She lifted a hand to her brow in a mock salute. “I love you too, Wingco MacKenzie.” And with a tip of his officer’s hat, he left.
@notameeksassenach said: Modern AU where Fergus goes to Jamie and Roger for advice on becoming a dad.
Author’s note: It took us a while to get to this one - but here it is, and with (almost) perfect timing. Congratulations on notameekbaby! All our best wishes and we hope you find a quiet moment to yourself to enjoy this wee story, @notameeksassenach.
Nerves
by @wunderlichkind
Marsali is a warm presence, her citrus scent invading his space in a wave of comfort when she leans in and softly squeezes his hand under the table. He smiles at her and squeezes back, his chest constricting with the familiar force of his feelings, all his tenderness towards his beautiful wife. She gives him a look behind the golden curtain of her hair and he raises an eyebrow at her.
„Now?“ he asks softly, and she shrugs.
„Why not?“
„Okay then.“ He can feel his smile spread, sees it mirrored on Marsali’s features. For all his fears and doubts, he’s excited. He’s excited for everything to come, excited for taking the first step and telling the family today, as they’re all gathered around the long table in Brianna and Roger’s home.
It’s Jem’s third birthday, and the dinner he wished for - Fish and Chips - has been a turbulent affair, with Bree and Roger trying to keep the chaos in check and Claire and Jamie listening intently to Jem’s loud tales of wishes and presents. Marsali and Fergus have been content to watch quietly, saving their news as to not steal Jemmy’s spotlight.
„Auntie Marsi, will ye come see my new spaceship bed?“ Jem crows, before either of them can even begin to form the words. Jem’s sticky little hands drum an excited rhythm on Marsali’s forearm and she laughs and shrugs at Fergus.
„Someone’s clearly had too much sugar,“ Brianna notes in a dry tone from the base of the stairs and Fergus notices, not for the first time, how well his sister has grown into her role as a mother – how much she reminds him of Mama.
„Of course I’ll come see yer space ship, buddy!“ Marsali smooths the russet curls out of Jem’s forehead and gets up. Before she joins Brianna and Jem on the stairs, she bends to whisper into Fergus’ ear.
„Tell them anyway. I dinna mind and we might not get them together at a single table again before he’s here.“
She silences his inquisitive stare with a reassuring squeeze of his shoulder, then kisses his cheek. Claire stands up and joins her when Marsali moves towards the stairs, announcing she needs to check out Jemmy’s rash again.
„Looks like we’re left wi’ kitchen duties,“ Roger sighs, but the soft expression he wears while his eyes follow his wife and son up the stairs of their new home betrays his mock irritation.
The kitchen is warm and cozy and Jamie turns the dials of the radio until low, slow blues rhythms fill the room. Roger fills the sink, chuckling at his father-in-law’s tuneless humming and Fergus has to take a deep swig of whisky to get a grip on his emotions.
This is his family. His growing family.
He accepts a wet pan from Roger and starts to dry it, then clears his throat. „So, Marsali and I have news.“
Jamie looks up from the paper he’s been studying while waiting for dried dishes to stow away. His eyes meet his adoptive son’s, alight with silent support. Fergus takes a deep breath.
„I’m gonna be a father.“
It’s Jamie’s turn to clear his throat, then – wrapping his son into a tight hug, both to express his joy and to hide the emotion in his face. Roger laughs and claps Fergus on the back, saying his congratulations.
They eventually turn to the dishes again, all the while discussing the news the way men do – in practical terms. The baby is due in May, it’s gonna be a boy, they’re gonna stay in their apartment for a while, Marsali has been fairly well.
Soon, the dishes are done and stowed away and they’re sitting around the kitchen table, glasses of whisky in front of them. Fergus feels almost dizzy, excitement and wariness battling in his stomach as fiercely as they did the day Marsali bought the pregnancy test. He’s grateful for the warm burn of the spirit down his throat, for Jamie’s heavy hand on his shoulder, for Roger’s stories of his and Bree’s first days as new parents.
„It’ll be fine, lad. Dinna worry too much.“
Jamie’s calm words are as reassuring to Fergus now, as when he was a little boy with a scraped knee or fear of the dark. The storm inside him dies down enough for Fergus to voice his concerns.
„What if I’m not a good father to him?“
Both Jamie and Roger look like it’s a thought they think him mad to consider, and he adds to his question before either of them can voice that. „You know, with the MS? I’m fine now but we don’t know for how long, and if I can’t throw a ball with him, or carry him to bed, or do happy dances...“
„Fergus.“ Roger stops him mid-sentence. „Do ye love him?“
„Of course I love him,“ Fergus answers without hesitation.
„So ye have yer answer. Ye’ll be exactly the father yer son needs. And for anything ye can’t give him, ye’ll have the support of yer family,“ Roger says firmly and Jamie nods, making an affirming sound in the back of his throat.
„Most of all, ye have Marsali,“ Jamie adds, and smiles crookedly at Fergus. „The lassie will be yer arms and legs and move mountains for ye if need be, and ye ken that well. The bairn will want for nothing.“
He closes his eyes for a moment against the threat of tears, and pinches the bridge of his nose. „You’re right,“ he admits. „It’s just not fair that she might have to take all that on for me.“
„It’s not,“ Jamie agrees. „But it willna make ye any less of a father, as it willna make ye any less of a son or a friend or a man. I’m proud of the person ye’ve become, lad.“ His voice is rough on the last few words, his hand firmly squeezing Fergus’ shoulder. All three men are silent for a moment, burying their noses in their whisky glasses.
„Thank you,“ Fergus finally says, when he’s composed himself enough to speak. The kitchen door opens to the chatter of the women, all smiling widely with the news.
Claire kisses her son on the cheek, tightly hugging him. „I’m so excited for you!“ she smiles, sitting on the bench next to her husband.
Fergus looks up at Marsali – his fierce, radiant, strong Marsali. Reaching for her hand, he intertwines their fingers, and returns his mother’s smile.
Roger’s thoughts when he learns that Brianna never wanted Jamie to beat him up.
Hope.
by @whiskynottea
“She sent you for me, then?”
“Yes.”
Claire’s eyes were clear, focused, just as he remembered them. Her voice rang in his ears, the words anchoring him. He thought abstractedly that she was even more beautiful in the past than in their own time, her time.
Bree didn’t want him to be beaten. She hadn’t done this, had never sent him away from the Ridge. Roger looked up at Claire and Jamie Fraser standing in front of him, and all he could see was Brianna. She had sent them to rescue him.
He smiled, and the tears welled in his eyes. The air whooshed out of him in a soft sob, and he bent his head, feeling suddenly exposed.
The realization felt like a cool breeze dancing on his skin, easing his sore muscles as if her long fingers traced patterns on his body, painting relief.
Bree still wanted him.
Roger took a deep breath, and for the first time since the night Fraser had sold him, he felt his lungs welcome the air. Welcome life. He had a reason to survive now, he had her.
Roger had raved when he heard the priest talking about love back in the hut. He had been sure then that he was a fool for loving her still. And he was. Not because he had heard his heart all this time, but because in the lonely nights, when they had kept him tethered against a tree, he had doubted it.
He could blame the pain. The disappointment. The betrayal.
He had been lost.
He had walked for days with his feet focused on escaping outcrops and his mind focused on her. Her smooth skin, the almond-shaped eyes reflecting the fire inside him, her body, fitting perfectly in his arms. Sometimes at noon, when the sun hit the flowers long enough, he could smell a hint of the perfume she had worn back in their own time. But her scent, what was purely her, was what he had conjured in his mind every night when they left him alone. And he cried like a wee lad, thinking that he’d never smell her again.
Their fight had become a part of his every day. Had him analyzing again and again, trying to remember their exact words and gestures, how she had raised her voice and how he had lashed back at her. Stupid words, selfishly masking a love that was burning them both alive.
He knew he was walking a fine line the moment she mentioned the obituary, but everything went out of control faster than he thought it could have. He had said the wrong things, he knew that now, but she should know that he hadn’t meant them that way. He would never impose himself on her, of all people! All he wanted was to keep her safe. To make her listen, stubborn as she was. And to hear two words leaving her lips. “Don’t go.” He had gone back through time and across an ocean for her, and she couldn’t ask him to stay. He’d always been one step ahead in this relationship. Wanting more, wishing for a future when she was focused on nothing but the present. After everything they had gone through, he felt he deserved her to take that step, to ask him to stay. He had earned it.
Bitter thoughts infiltrated his mind with every mile that took him away from her, their quiet voices singing his anguish and despair. Every chance for safety he had sacrificed for her bit him back at night, when the darkness was thick and the blood tasted tangy on his lips. Hope had abandoned him. His trust in them had become a fragile stem, crashed under the Mohawks’ boots and Fraser’s fists.
But his love, what he’d thought stupid when he had talked to the priest, never left him. She could feed his love even from miles away. She had always done that.
And now, looking at the Frasers, he knew that no matter what, his and Brianna’s love would conquer it all. She was his wife and he was her husband, and that sense of belonging knew no time or space.
Anonymous said: Bree confides in John her fear of Jem’s paternity in Drums. Imagine she writes a letter to him after they discover Roger is Jem’s biological father.
Of Lice And Love
by @wunderlichkind
Fraser’s Ridge, January 1775
John –
I trust this letter finds you well and happy, as it leaves me. We have celebrated a wonderful Hogmanay and start the new year hopeful, although there are difficulties on the horizon that I believe you’ll hear about soon enough.
This is not a letter of worries, though. Last month, a weight was lifted off my shoulders. It was a weight I’ve been carrying for so long, it had become a part of me. You helped bear that weight as best as you could, so I shall lift it off your shoulders too.
Jem – my son, as you will remember – caught lice about a month ago. It was such a bad case that we ended up shaving all the hair off his head, and that was when we found it – a curious, big brown splotch right behind Jemmy’s ear. Of course I was worried at first, discussing its possible implications with Mama, when Roger reassured me that he’d had one just like it for all his life, and it hadn’t been of any concern. This was as close to a confirmation of Jem’s paternity as anyone could offer, and a vindication of the certainty I have always felt.
We have been a family for almost five years now, and Roger has never treated Jem as anything other than his own flesh and blood. But I know he carried his own part of this weight on his shoulders and I am beyond grateful it has lifted for all of us. I may not be able to completely rid myself of the memory of Stephen Bonnet, but Roger deserves to live without that shadow hanging over his head.
He has gone through so much these last five years – he has uprooted his entire life for me, he has been abducted, beaten and enslaved, and then came back from that only to find me pregnant. He had to find his place in a family that had done terribly wrong by him, with a wife that had been violated and a son he neither expected, nor had certainty shared his blood. And as if that wasn’t enough already, he was wrongfully hanged. The miracle of his survival does not negate the part of himself he did lose, his voice. He had to fight tirelessly to build himself up again, to become a new version of himself, one he still recognized.
And he did it. He stood by me through all of it, he built a relationship with my father despite their differences, he became a father himself despite what his own internal struggles might have been. He did it all for me. For our family.
I’ve been rambling, and you’ll forgive me for it. What I’m really writing for is not to gush about my husband, but to thank you, John.
Thank you, with all my heart. Thank you for not marrying me when I demanded you do. Thank you for standing by me regardless, through the tumultuous phase of life you encountered me in. Thank you for being a true friend and bearing with me the burden I shared with you many years ago. I hope you’ll find some of the joy and love I’ve felt this past month enclosed in this letter, and I hope I’ll hear from you soon.
