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Without worry etc. (Update 29/05/2018)

(“Schloss Sanssouci” by PeterB)

You can find all parts of “Without worry” here:

Without worry - Prologue Without worry (1): Never again Without worry (2): Men’s stuff Without worry (3): Do you remember? (1) Without worry (4): Of Sons and Daughters (1) Without worry (5): Of Sons and Daughters (2) Without worry (6): It was your fault Without worry (7): Back in her Business

or at AO3: “Without worry”

For those who are interested in “Under the wings of the black Eagle” - all previous parts are available here: ToC or at AO3.

There are also currently four chapters that are my response to The Lallybroch Library Prompt Exchange Challenge - PROMPT #16: “Good morning. I see the assassins have failed.” (submitted by @the-fear-you-wont-fall). The chapters will later become part of the “Without worry” series (in revised and supplemented form):

Chapter 1: Alea iacta est (1) Chapter 2: Alea iacta est (2) Chapter 3: Alea iacta est (3) Chapter 4: Carried on the Wings of an Eagle Chapter 5: Light and shadow (1)

#withoutworry #underthewingsoftheblackeagle #outlander #outlander fan fiction #LLEvent #OLPrompt-Exchange #James Fraser #Claire Fraser #Fergus Claudel Fraser #Jamie Fraser #Claire Beauchamp

PEC (4): Carried on the Wings of an Eagle

Fourth post for the Lallybroch Library Prompt Exchange Challenge PROMPT #16: “Good morning. I see the assassins have failed.” (submitted by @the-fear-you-wont-fall). The posts, which will last for the next days, will later become part of the “Without worry” series. @thelallybrochlibrary - This is a kind of longer "weekend chapter". Partially it was inspired by this video: Click! My special thanks goes to @raunchyblonde21 :)

(”Sommerabend” by PDPhotos)

Quellheim Monday, August 25, 1749, early evening

It was a wonderful mild summer evening. They had dined in the garden. Now Fergus was sitting on one of the benches reading, while Claire stood at the entrance of her herb garden, surveying the rest of the garden from there. Between the part of the garden where she had grown vegetables and flowers and the geese enclosure stood seven trees of blue plums and two trees bearing yellow plums. Two more trees with round red plums joined the back garden wall. The fruits were nearly ripe and had to be harvested soon. There were too many fruits for three people to consume them.

But before his thoughts could continue to become entangled in the difficult family circumstances he had been born into, he forced himself to concentrate fully on his task. If everything went according to plan he would arrive in Hamburg in five days, change the ship and then go down the river Elbe for another three days until he would reach Magdeburg. There he would meet with the commander of the fortress, who would forward his message to Potsdam via the secret royal messenger system. He could only hope that his message arrived there in time. He told himself that that was no longer his responsibility. Yet he could not silence his inner unrest, which was caused by his uncertainty about the outcome of this affair. He would much rather have asked the commander for a horse of his own, so that he could bring the message to Potsdam himself and thus ensure that it arrived there on time. But he knew that he had neither the authority, nor would a single rider be able to accomplish this task. Precisely for this reason, the secret royal courier network had been set up many years ago. It was a tightly knit system of royal couriers carrying messages entrusted to them from one station to another. These riders were specially trained and had excellent horses. Each station was about a day's ride away, and when the courier arrived at one station, another, with a rested horse, was there and ready to pick up the documents and carry them on. It was - as Ambassador von Klinggräff had repeatedly emphasized - a very reliable and effective system. Nevertheless, Benjamin Smith hated to leave tasks unfinished, which had been entrusted to him. Such situations always left a mixture of uncomfortable feelings in him. He found it difficult to put these feelings into words, but he felt helpless. And this helplessness seemed to be accompanied by a feeling that something was lacking. Both led to an inner restlessness, which was very difficult to control. This led to more helplessness and with that, the whole vicious cycle began again. The fact that a failure this time could not only lead to a loss of money, land or power, but to the loss of three lives burdened him even more. The only solution was to focus on the things that mattered most in the respective situation.

#olpromt-exchange #llevent #jamie fraser #claire fraser #withoutworry #fergus claudel fraser

PEC (5): Light and shadow (1)

Fifth post for the Lallybroch Library Prompt Exchange Challenge PROMPT #16: “Good morning. I see the assassins have failed.” (submitted by @the-fear-you-wont-fall). The posts, which will last for the next days, will later become part of the “Without worry” series. @thelallybrochlibrary - My special thanks this time goes to @outofcheese ! - I apologize for being so late with this chapter, but my apartment was flooded due to a broken heating pipe in the ceiling. It has to be renovated, I have to move out and searching for a new apartment takes a lot of time and effort. But we are slowly approaching the assassination.

(”Morgen” by Mhy)

Previously

Quellheim Tuesday, August 26, 1749, early morning

Outside, the sun was just rising as Jamie joined Claire in the kitchen. Only a few candles were burning on the worktable near the stove. They immersed his wife in a warm, shimmering light while she was preparing breakfast. He loved the sight, and he loved the morning silence that filled the house before everyday life began. Slowly he approached her from behind, put both arms carefully around her waist and buried his face in her curls.

This information was not new to von Plochnow. Ambassador von Klinggräff had already indicated this in his last message to him. But he did not say anything, just nodded again and hoped to silence the Lieutenant. He did not want to spend the short stay he had here with meaningless talk, but rather catch a glimpse of the city, which had impressed him irresistibly on his last visit. The last time he visited his father, he had also landed in Hamburg and his father had taken the time to show it to him the. Benjamin still fed from this special memory. His father had led him through the port facilities and introduced him to Prussian merchants who had their offices there. Together they visited the Jungfernstieg boulevard [7] and the opera at the Gänsemarkt [8]. On Sunday, they attended the service in the principal church St. Jacobi [9], where they sang to the sounds of the organ, which had been completed by Arp Schnitger [10] himself. They had taken lunch and dinner outside their accommodation and his father took advantage of these opportunities to introduce him to some wealthy and influential Prussian and Hamburg merchants and their families. Prussia had established diplomatic ties with Hamburg in 1653 and his father had used all his connections to introduce him to the Prussian Ambassador over lunch. It was well known that Johann Destinon was not only a particularly close confidant of the father of the present Prussian King, but that he also enjoyed the complete confidence of the Friedrich II [11]. If somebody could win the goodwill of the Ambassador, to that person the doors in Berlin, and even better in Potsdam, would open up. Benjamin was certain that he owed the commission he was carrying on to the intercession of the two Ambassadors, Mr. von Klinggräff and Mr. Destinon. But like all other Hanseatic cities, Hamburg had also a long trading tradition with the English Kingdom. Since the 13th century, there was a central Hanseatic trading office in London, the so-called 'Stahlhof' [12] and in the 16th century, the ‘Merchant Adventurers’ company settled in the ‘English Court’ in Hamburg [13]. As a result, numerous fruitful and close economic, political and intellectual connections between Hamburg and London had emerged. Despite the wars and changes of the last century, some of these connections still existed and Benjamin's father had insisted on making his son known at least to some of the people who knew how to use those connections. The young man remembered well that his father had referred to these men as ‘pepper sacks’. Wealthy Hamburg merchants were called by that name, because the wealth of some of them was based on the trade in spices from overseas, for which the term ‘pepper’ was commonly used in the Middle Ages. The term 'pepper sack' was sometimes also used disparagingly if one wanted to mark rich, ruthless people who were only concerned with money and power. In particular, the whole Hamburg upper class was called by that name. But his father had also told him that behind this outer facade of power and wealth there were occasionally people with whom one could establish lifelong friendships. People one could trust. Yes, the Hanseatic people [14] were proud people. They were proud of their status as a Free and Hanseatic city, one of the oldest citizen republics in Europe if not in the entire world. They were proud of what they had built up for generations. And of course they were proud of their reputation. At home and abroad, they were considered highly cultured people with commercial boldness, solidity, reliability ("a handshake is enough"), restraint and self-irony. It was not easy to win their friendship and trust. But if they were made friends, they would be friends forever. Deep in though, he shook his head slightly. He had spent relatively little time with his father throughout his life. But every time they were together, his father had done everything to promote him in every conceivable way. It was as if he had known that one day his son's path would lead permanently to his fatherland. He was still deep in thoughts when his carriage reached its destination. The coachman opened the door and let the two men out. At the pier a sailing ship docked, which was much smaller than the one with which he had come to Hamburg. But for a kind of river boat it still had an impressive size. While the coachman brought the luggage to the ship, Bonath said goodbye to von Plochnow.

He had met the three soldiers in the Colonel's office. They were presented to him as Francis Crenshaw, Richard Lennox and Taran MacQuarrie. A coach had brought them to the harbor, where they boarded an English merchant ship that would take them to Hamburg. Their passage had already been paid and the captain had been told that they were four English merchant travelers who had to travel to the Hanseatic city for talks with trading partners. Crenshaw and Lennox had been assigned a cabin together, he had to share a second cabin with MacQuarrie. As soon as he had stowed his bag there, he left the cabin and went to the deck. Unable to calm down in MacQuarrie's presence, he stepped to the railing, looked out to the sea, and took a deep breath. The longer he looked, the more the cries of the sea gulls and the calls of the sailors who were preparing the ship to leave the harbor fell silent. Finally he was able to let this thoughts come to the surface. The three men were all English soldiers, and yet he did not really trust them. Would he be successful in commanding these three figures, who might as well have been found as criminals in an English prison? He did not know. But he had to try it. As hard as it was for him, it was about his honor as an officer and the future of his family. In recent days he had again and again wondered how he could solve this Gordian knot. He hated the idea of capturing James Fraser and his family and even more he hated the thought of seeing him on the gallows of the Tower of London. He knew that this man would never get a fair trial before an English court. The verdict had already been spoken by the Duke of Cumberland, and all that still happened was the execution of this order. But the sword of the Duke of Cumberland floated over his own head too and he knew what this butcher was capable of. If he continued to annoy this man, it could not only cost him his position, it could also endanger his whole family. And was not Fraser himself responsible for his fate? If he had not fled, he would have been free in a few years. So all of this was Fraser's own fault. He tried to persuade himself with this thought, tried to calm his own conscience and even more of his own heart. But without success. Then the bells of the churches of Edinburgh sounded to invite the faithful to the Sunday service. If he had been a man of faith, he could have prayed and sought comfort and help from God. Fraser was such a man. That he knew without a doubt. But he himself? He himself had long since given up the thought that there might be a God. This thought had disturbed his conscience too much. He had to solve his problem all by himself. And he did not have much time left for that. In ten days they would arrive in Hamburg and in another ten days they would arrive at their destination. Then they should take Fraser captive and bring them back to England as soon as possible. He had to use each of these days to find a solution.

#outlander #outlander fan fiction #LLEvent #OLPrompt-Exchange #James Fraser #Claire Fraser #Fergus Claudel Fraser #Jamie Fraser #Claire Beauchamp

Without worry etc. (Update 07/05/2018)

(“Schloss Sanssouci” by PeterB)

You can find all parts of “Without worry” here:

or at AO3: “Without worry”

For those who are interested in “Under the wings of the black Eagle” - all previous parts are available here: ToC or at AO3.

Chapter 1: Alea iacta est (1) Chapter 2: Alea iacta est (2) Chapter 3: Alea iacta est (3) Chapter 4: Carried on the Wings of an Eagle

#withoutworry #underthewingsoftheblackeagle #outlander #outlander fan fiction #LLEvent #OLPrompt-Exchange #James Fraser #Claire Fraser #Fergus Claudel Fraser #Prussia #Jamie Fraser #Claire Beauchamp

PEC (3): Alea iacta est (3)

Third post for the Lallybroch Library Prompt Exchange Challenge PROMPT #16: “Good morning. I see the assassins have failed.” (submitted by @the-fear-you-wont-fall). The posts, which will last for the next days, will later become part of the “Without worry” series. @thelallybrochlibrary

(”Sonnenuntergang” by 851878)

Previously

Edinburgh Friday, August 22, 1749, 11 am

It was eleven o'clock in the morning when Benjamin Smith left the house. He would only visit it once more in the afternoon to pick up his things. After removing the message from the coin and fitting it with a new one, he had visited his landlady. Mrs. McDonald was surprised to see him. He told her that he needed to travel to Manchester because a distant relative was ill and urgently needed his help. Before she could ask for further details, he thanked her for the friendly welcome and the wonderful service he had received from her. He then handed her a small black leather bag with a number of silver coins, and the joy this little gift gave her, made her forget all further questions.

Now he was on his way back to Grassmarket. Entering the square, he turned left to have lunch in one of the pubs. On his way he passed a beggar who held out an old tattered hat, of which one could only guess that he had once been of green color.

"Please Sir! A gift of charity!"

Smith stopped in front of the man and smiled at him. Then he reached into the pocket of his jacket, pulled out a large Italian coin and put it in the beggar's hat.

"Thank you Sir! May God bless your kind heart!"

Smith moved on and entered a pub shortly thereafter. The beggar sat in his place for a moment longer. Then he got up and walked away. Slowly, but then, when he turned into a side street, much faster.

Benjamin Smith had finished his lunch. He paid and shortly thereafter stepped through the pub's door onto the Grassmarket. He crossed the square in southerly direction. As he passed the table of a young woman selling flowers, he stopped. He bought a small bouquet of light-blue forget-me-nots and then continued on his way. Forty minutes later, he walked through the gate of a cemetery. With the confidence of a man who knew his surroundings, he moved along the main path of the cemetery to a smaller path that branched off to the right, walked along it, and turned to the right again. Shortly thereafter, he stopped in front of a grave. On the gray stone, only a few details were to be read: Catherine Smith 26.08.1694 - 19.12.1739 He laid the flowers down at the foot of the stone. Then he put his right hand on the stone and was silent for a while. He looked around and when he was sure that there was nobody near him, he knelt down and whispered: "There is no other way. I have to go mum, but I'm not leaving you." With the sleeve of his frock-coat he wiped away the tears that were running down his face. Then he took a small transparent glass bottle from the pocket of his jacket, filled it with earth and closed it with the cork he had previously pulled out. He dropped the small bottle back into the pocket and once more wiped tears from his face. Then he got up slowly. Once more he lingered in silence for a few minutes before the gray stone that marked the final resting place of his beloved mother. Although she had been dead for ten years, and although he had almost grown up at the time of her death, the pain her loss had left in his heart had never vanished. And now he was destined to leave not only his home country, but his mother's grave as well. He had to leave all behind. Without knowing if he would ever again enter Scottish ground. The sense of loss that seized his soul at that moment hurt him just as the death of his mother had done ten years ago. One last time he stroked the gray stone. Then he turned abruptly and left the cemetery with determined steps.

#OLPrompt-Exchange #LLEvent #Withoutworry #Jamie Fraser #Claire Fraser #Fergus Claudel Fraser

SIRUN ‘AJNABIUN// THE FOREIGNER’S SECRET

Hello all! Here is my contribution to the @thelallybrochlibrary April Prompt Exchange!

@smoakingwaffles @missclairebelle ye lassies are just the best. I dinna ken how you haven’t ghosted me yet.

@katnoenau THIS IS ACTUALLY HAPPENING.

PROMPT #8: ‘What’s a lass like you doing out here on a night like this?’ (submitted by anonymous)

Chapter 1

It was hot, a dry heat that cracked the skin and created mirages against the packed sand. She felt the remnants of a day’s dig locked in her curls, a bird’s nest of curls tinged with the red of the sand.

“Keep going, I know we’re close,” her tone was more forceful than she intended.

His brow was thick with perspiration, but he caught her tone and nodded slightly. He was tired, she could tell by the slouching of his shoulders and the labored breathing. But they had chased this lead for two years- and they were close. She knew it.

#the Lallybroch Library #outlander fan fiction community event #*LL event #OL Prompt Exchange #LLEvent #kkruml tries a crossover #SATFS fic #the foreigner's secret fic #outlander #fan fic #outlander fan fic #yes it's a mummy crossover #and a drunk claire #of course there's whisky

“Chemistry Test”-Part 1: Leoch Pictures

Lallybroch Library Prompt Exchange!

This is for you @shadylainey!

The Complete Work on AO3

Master Post here on Tumblr

Prompt #33: Modern AU: Claire auditions for a role opposite Jamie, who has been cast as the male lead in a TV drama.

A little NSFW–no pics, just words…

“One more pair of plastic boobs and I’ll…“

“You’ll do what?” asked Murtagh.

“Is it too much to ask?” questioned Jamie as he laced up his boots. “A woman with enough confidence in her natural beauty that she doesn’t feel the need to spackle herself with makeup or submit herself to surgery?”

“Hear, hear,” Murtagh said, lifting his bottled water in a toast. “To boobs au natural.”

“Sometimes I think I should never have come to Hollywood,” Jamie sighed, shaking his head. “I should have stayed in Scotland, satisfied myself with working on the stage. At least there I wasn’t surrounded by cookie cutter blondes with their pouty-lipped instagram selfies.” He trailed off as he slipped on his leather jacket.

Murtagh grinned, holding up an imaginary phone and taking countless fake snaps as he made duck lips and stuck his butt out, peeking over his shoulder.

“God, Murtagh. I’d be able to laugh if it wasn’t so damn true. And so damn sad. I think I’ve forgotten what a normal, non-fame-obsessed girl is even like.”

"Good luck to ye, though, Jamie,” Murtagh said, sitting down on the couch in front of the computer on the coffee table. “You were fortunate enough to get the role. Now all they have to do is find ye the perfect leading lady.”

“It would help if they had any idea at all what Jackie Dawson should look like,” Jamie sighed as he stood in the doorway. “They can’t even decide between having her a blonde or a brunette.”

“They just want that special something; that moment of magic. Ah, well, break a leg,” Murtagh said, not looking up from the computer screen. “Hey! Looks like I might have another audition for ‘curmudgeonly gruff but lovable friend’ some time next week.”

Jamie grinned. “Not the leading man who gets the girl?”

“Damn you, young fool,” said Murtagh. “I’m almost certain the world will not be seeing me kissing onscreen any time in the near future… Not that I’d want to. I’d be happy to settle for my own real-breasted woman to kiss completely in private.”

Jamie grinned and headed down the stairs, glancing at his Lyft app when he paused on the landing. He didn’t drive in LA if he could help it. There was public transport here, too, but he preferred the anonymity of riding in a Lyft or Uber. Occasionally the driver would recognize him from his roles in other movies, but he wasn’t famous. Not yet, anyway.

Jamie glanced down at his script. Hard to believe that a stack of paper held so much power to transform his whole life. This particular script was either genius or the dumbest thing ever; unfortunately, they wouldn’t know until they’d screened the pilot if they had a hit on their hands or not.

Jamie had been cast in the part of Ross DeWitt Bukater, the young CEO of Titanic Corporation Limited. He wanted to think it was not just the fact that he had naturally curly red hair but on account of his incredible charisma and his chameleon-like acting skill—the way he could transform himself into another character—that they’d chosen him. However, he could still see the greed in the casting team’s eyes when he’d assured them his fiery red curls were his own. He could imagine what they were thinking—that they’d save a fortune on dye, perms, and wigs alone, not to mention the savings from having to edit for hair continuity.

“Sony. Lot 15.” He told the Lyft driver, paging through the stack of head shots. He stopped at one of a dark-haired beauty with blue eyes and a curvaceous form.

The actress pictured was Geneva Dunsany, cast as his fiancée Calista Hockley, daughter of the billionaire owner of the company. Geneva appeared to be just as haughty and egotistical in real life as the character she was supposed to play. At least he wouldn’t end up with her, Jamie reassured himself, though in the TV series the writer planned for more of the will-they-or-won’t-they tug of war while Ross and Jackie fell in love, so Jamie was pretty sure there would be some on-screen kissing with that one.

Jamie glanced through the rest of the pictures. Jackie. That was the role they were still trying to fill. Jackie, the data entry clerk, unimportant and forgettable in the eyes of anyone who mattered at Titanicorps. Yet Jackie would be the one who would talk Ross off the ledge when, misunderstood by all those around him, overlooked and disrespected, Ross Bukater would consider ending his life.

Jamie looked forward to filming those scenes with raw anticipation. It was in those moments that being classically trained seemed to help him plunge into the depths of emotion, to internalize the desperation and hopelessness a man would have to feel to reach such a dark place. He didn’t want to be disingenuous, but he couldn’t help but hope that the actress they chose would be able to hold her own in those tough scenes.

That’s why today mattered. There were five actresses coming for call backs, this time to each have a chemistry test opposite him. Today mattered so much that Jamie had lobbied for the casting team to include the rooftop scene in the trio of script excerpts they’d do today.

“Their chemistry…” The producers had agreed as they talked after the last failed batch of auditions. “It’s got to be like Kate and Leo. Natural. Magnetic. Instantaneous. Riveting.”

“Not like there’s any pressure on me or anything,” Jamie groaned, slouching in the back seat and staring out the window. Christ, he missed Scotland. Here in LA with their watering restrictions and xeriscaping. He knew having yards filed with rock and cacti instead of grass saved the environment. But God, what he wouldn’t give to see the verdant green hills rising up behind Lallybroch Estates where he’d spent his childhood.

He wondered again about the choices that had led him here. He was 34. Other people, all his grammar school friends, they were married and had at least a kid or more. What if he hadn’t left home? Would he be married by now, possibly to Laoghaire? Would they have a few snot-nosed bairns running around?

He felt the tremor of stage fright in his gut as the driver coasted to a stop. Jamie couldn’t remember which of his teachers had coached him to be grateful for that sensation, knowing that it was his body pumping adrenaline into his system, providing the extra burst of energy to fuel whatever intense emotion he needed to conjure.

He tapped the tip icon, patted the driver on the shoulder and said “Thanks, man” as he headed into the sound stage. This was in response to his request, too. He wanted to do the scene on a roof set. He wanted to teeter on the edge with the crash pad below him. He wanted to see what the actresses would do, how they would respond physically, not just with words.

The casting director met him at the door. And it began, the barrage of names and faces and actresses. Beautiful women, yes, but women that he felt like he couldn’t see anything when he looked at them. Not the characters they were playing, not themselves. There wasn’t anything real there.

Until her. Their first two scenes were good. She delivered her lines with just enough emotion, subtle changes on her face displaying irritation, humor, attraction. Her brown hair was curly, he observed, though she had pulled up in a bun. Who wore buns anymore? And her eyes were blue. Gray in some lights, nearly green in others.

But then, the rooftop scene. Jamie stood on the ledge. He could feel his gut drop as he looked down at the crash pad. It wasn’t far, but far enough that he felt physically agitated. That would only help the performance.

She held her shaky hand out to him, palm up, reaching toward him, her whole body plaintively begging him to stay. “Ross, you have so much to live for,” she said. Damn, what was her name? Claire? Her eyes were filling with real tears. Her chin and lower lip quivered with deep emotion.

“Don’t make me watch you die,” she begged. “Don’t put this tragedy on my shoulders.”

She wasn’t following the script anymore, Jamie thought with confusion. But this felt raw and real, and he quickly dove back into the scene.

“Surely there’s one good thing left on this earth…one thing that you’d love to see again…” Claire stepped forward, her hand still extended toward him. A single tear traced a line on her cheek as she spoke again. “Surely there’s one thing, one hope, one future joy that you’ll be stealing from yourself if you end it now.”

He turned his back to her. “Jackie,” he said. “I have nothing left. Not one thing to live for.” He closed his eyes and extended his arms to the side.

The voice he heard behind him was no longer plaintive and calming. “Damn you, Ross Bukater!” she said fiercely. “Don’t you dare kill yourself!”

And then, she turned away. She turned away and started walking.

And it was an empty desperation, a desperation not to end everything but to be with her that pulled Jamie off the ledge, dragged him off and forced him to run to her, to take her firmly in his arms.

She was sobbing as he grabbed her in a bear hug. She sobbed and pummeled his chest with her fists, so hard that Jamie nearly lost his breath.

It hurt. He needed her to stop. But she was sobbing as she beat him, and he couldn’t, or wouldn’t hurt her. He tried to grab her wrists, but she was strong. Finally he did the only thing he could think of to stop her: he grabbed her around the waist, lifted her entire body, and crushed his lips against hers.

She thrashed and whimpered against him, and then she responded, madly pressing her lips to his, opening her mouth to him, biting his lower lip, invading him with her tongue. He lowered her feet to the ground and released his grip on her, but she responded by throwing her arms around his neck and digging her fingers into his hair. He could feel her fingernails scratch his neck. He bent slightly at the waist, and she responded to his physical cue by wrapping her legs around his midsection as he grabbed her thighs.

There was an air conditioner vent on the roof set, and he carried her to it, pressed her against it. God, he had a raging erection. Hell, this was embarrassing. She couldn’t help but feel it with his pelvis pressing her against the cold metal, her legs open to him. She was wearing a skirt, so the only thing between their bodies was her panties and his slacks. Christ, he should not have gone true Scotsman today.

Claire could let him know if it was too much, but she was kissing him back with as much urgency as he kissed her.

He couldn’t stop himself. He released her thigh and raised his hand to her breast. It was soft and heavy in his hand, with that natural give of real flesh. He groaned.

She whimpered in his ear. When he gripped her thigh again, he overshot his mark, and his hand firmly grabbed her round ass. Not only that, his fingers… his fingers accidentally slipped inside her panties. They were inside her panties, and she was wet. God, she was so wet. He would have apologetically recoiled in embarrassment if she hadn’t made a little movement with her hips that established his hand more firmly in contact with her. And then she moaned.

“Fuck, I want you, Jamie Fraser,” she murmured into his hair, biting his neck.

From behind them, there was cheering, whistling, and clapping. Jamie released Claire to the floor, stunned. He met her eyes and found the same strange mix of desire and embarrassment he felt. But she smiled in a playful way that extended all the way to her eyes.

He kept himself between her and the panel as she straightened her skirts, and then she walked in front of him back to the panel while he begged his body to calm itself. Dead things. Rotten trash.

When they stood in front of the casting team, he found himself standing close to her. She slipped her arm around his waist. “Chemistry,” she whispered, so he put his arm around her shoulders.

Everyone on the panel had their own thing to say. It was so real…yes, they broke script, but they demonstrated the whole range of emotions Jackie and Ross would need to express during season one. They were amazing together.

They needed to talk, so they huddled at the table. Jamie didn’t know why they needed to discuss. She so obviously deserved the part. She’d blown the other actresses away.

“That didn’t feel like acting,” Jamie said. “That was so raw and real. Sorry I grabbed you so hard.”

“Same. Sorry I beat you up,” she said, lifting the front of his shirt away from his skin and peeking at his chest. “You’re going to get bruises,” she said. “You might want to buy some arnica. It’ll keep the bruising to a minimum.” She drew her hands away, her fingertips dragging gently across his clavicle.

God damn, thought Jamie. Dog poop. Rotting kitchen scraps. Fruit flies.

It happened so fast after that. Rupert MacKenzie, the director, pushed his chair back and put his hands behind his head. They didn’t need another chemistry test. They’d found their Jackie. The whole panel wanted to shake her hand, congratulate him, take more pictures with the two of them standing next to each other. Jamie could feel her breasts against his ribs as she stood next to him, short enough to fit under his arm. She had both arms around him, and though he was embarrassed about their interaction, he didn’t want her to let go of him.

But finally, she did. And Rupert had a few things to say to him. Jamie couldn’t think, making excuses. He’d had a late night. He really needed to get home.

He rushed down the stairs, begging fate to let her still be there.

She was getting into an Uber.

“Claire!” he cried out. “Claire, wait!”

She turned and looked at him, bent and said a few words to the driver as he approached.

He was out of breath, probably red-faced. So nervous that he had sweat stains on his Henley tee. “Congratulations on earning the part,” he gasped. “I’m looking forward to working with you.”

“Thanks,” she responded. “This will be my first show ever.” She stood there, waiting for him to say something.

He was running circles in his brain, searching for any way to keep their conversation going. Finally he laughed. “That was intense. I need to decompress from that scene. Do you want to have a few drinks or go for a run or something?” He bit his lip.

“No,” she said firmly, shaking her head, staring at him intently.

Jamie’s heart dropped. Of course, she must have a boyfriend, a fiance, a husband. He glanced at her left hand.

“No,” she repeated. “You’re coming back to my hotel room, and we’re finishing what we fucking started. It’s either my vibrator or you, and judging from what I felt earlier, there’s no competition.”

“Well, then,” Jamie said, husky-voiced. “I suppose that means I’m coming with you!” He flushed and glanced around, heart racing, as he climbed into the car.

The End?