Good Evening All! I have a new one-shot that was inspired by the horrific weather that recently swept across the U.S. It caused so much grief, suffering to so many people. I hope this would bring a smile to some faces. This was written with one particular person in mind (and you know who you are) and I’m glad you like it.
Thanks as always to @scubalass for the read through. Your suggestions were, as always, spot on. It made the final story so much better.
Status of Edinburgh to Boston: There is progress but it is painfully slow. There are two characters that are essential to this chapter whose voice I do not hear as well as I do Jamie and Claire. I write something, then I delete it and I do the same thing over and over. We will come to an understanding at some point so dinna fash.
There will be A/N at the end to explain words or terms.
Without further delay I give you Visions in the Snow.
Here goes nothing:
VISIONS IN THE SNOW
February 1968 - Boston
The responsibility for hosting this week’s poker game fell to Joe Abernathy. He took his duties in this regard very seriously. It was the way the surgeons decompressed after a week of stressful surgical procedures and this week was no exception.
“It must have been a full moon,” he thought. Motor vehicle accidents, stabbings, gunshot wounds, volvulus, a ruptured esophagus, the works. It was during these times that he dearly missed his friend. Claire. He cast his glance over to the card table set with one extra place, Claire’s place. On the seat was her green visor that she wore when she played poker with the boys. It sat in repose like a memorial to a fallen comrade.
Silly thing! She believed wearing it masked her glass face. Nothing could be further from the truth, but none of her colleagues had the heart to tell her. They all knew what Claire Randall was thinking. So much so, they often let her win which caused her to think she was good at playing poker.
He glanced around the room and saw that everything was in readiness for the evening. The sideboard groaned beneath the bounty of food, snacks, and brews.
Outside, the wind blew fiercely rattling the windows drawing his attention. Joe looked out the window watching the two front trees bowing to the brute force of nature. Their skeletal fingers scraped at the roof almost as if trying to gain entry. It had been snowing for the last six hours with no sign of it letting up. He had considered canceling the game but a majority of his colleagues soundly vetoed that idea. Only Callahan and Peterson dissented. Callahan’s wife would kill him if he left her alone to deal with their six small ones while he went to play poker. Peterson lived thirty miles away. The remaining players all lived a short walking distance from his home, on Doctors Row. It was so-called because many of the physicians who worked at the hospital lived on the same street. These surgeons were gambling men betting they had enough time for some comradery, hands, and beers before the brunt of the storm arrived.
For a Boston snowstorm, it hadn’t accumulated very much. Yet. Regardless, it would not hamper these hardened surgeons accustomed to driving through Boston’s worst to get to the hospital. Without warning, the storm picked up intensity driving the snow hard enough to erase the landscape before him. Amid the squall, a hazy light glowed like the high beams of headlights in the snow. A wraithlike figure emerged from its center. Joe wasn’t able to make out any of its features. Man? Woman? He wasn’t sure. But one thing was for sure, it was headed directly toward his house.
Joe leaned closer trying to see if the person was in distress as they were caught out in the snow. Maybe they had abandoned their car and were seeking help. His warm breath met the cold pane fogging it, wholly obscuring his view. Using his shirt sleeve, he wiped away the condensation hoping to improve his ability to see. As the person drew closer, it became apparent that it was a young woman and her attire was totally inappropriate for the weather. She wore a long dress whose hem floated across the snow. It looked like a green and black plaid and a white scarf crossed her neck to cover her bosom. Her hair was dark, curly, piled high on her head, and tendrils framing her face. She looked a lot like… It couldn’t be, could it? She came closer. So close that he could see her eyes. Eyes the color of a fine whisky. Claire? Claire! How? She had left for Scotland, disappearing into the past, to find her true love.
Anxiety flowed through him. He needed to speak with the woman. He needed to know if it truly was Claire. Joe tried to open the window, but it wouldn’t budge. The frame had swollen from the moisture, he thought. He rapped on the window calling her name, but she paid no heed.
Claire was running and laughing bright and merry. Stopping suddenly, she turned and extended a hand into the haze. A man appeared laughing and chased after her. He was a big son of a bitch standing at least six feet four inches and as big as a brick…Well, he was big. He had a mop of red hair, but to simply say red would deny the richness of the color. It was a curly thick mosaic of cinnamon, auburn, gold, and cinnabar. And his eyes were the deepest blue Joe had ever seen. The man was kitted out in traditional highland garb right down to the sword strapped to his side. Reaching her, the young man made a courtly bow. He straightened, then took her hand to bestow a kiss. A moment later, he lifted and spun her around. She tossed her head back and peals of joyous laughter rang through the air. He set her down gently settling his hands on the swell of her hips. His eyes danced with love as he lowered his head to kiss her most thoroughly. Joe felt his cheeks burn as he watched such intimacy.
Time advanced in front of him. He became witness to a lifetime, to a marriage, to the bonds of love that could not be broken. The vision changed from the blush of first love through to a life fully lived. He wept at their trials, tribulations, and heartbreak. And he reveled in their accomplishments, triumphs, and joys. But through all their hardships, and there were many, their love for each other never wavered, never changed.
The final event showed the couple had aged. The woman, Claire, had streaks of grey in her hair while the man’s hair had lightened. They stood atop a ridge overlooking some land. The man had his arm securely around her waist pulling her protectively close to him. Claire stood on her tiptoes wrapping her arms around his neck and pulled him down for a fiery kiss. She nodded her head and started to pull him toward a cabin. He scooped her up and carried her across the threshold kicking the door shut.
As the vision faded back into the vapor as a voice called out, “I am happy Joe. I found my Jamie.”
Resting his head against the cold pane of glass provided a sense of comfort to his unsettled mind and spirit. Uncertainty gripped him as he grappled to understand what happened. Had this been a dream? Or a hallucination? Or had the fabric of time somehow been rent apart? He shook himself, much like a dog dispelling the rain from its coat, hoping to lift his state of bewilderment.
Psssst, pssst, ssssssss! The homely sound of the radiator hissing brought him back to himself and away from his ruminations.
Mercilessly, the wind blew about the house ferociously shaking the windowpanes in their frames then suddenly died away. Out of curiosity, Joe tried to open the window. This time it slid open with ease. The blinding snow stopped returning to light flurries. As he turned to walk away from the window, he noticed the clock on the mantel. It was one minute later than when he last looked at it. “Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ,” he muttered.
Joe walked over to Claire’s chair and picked up the visor cradling it to his chest, “Wherever you are Claire, I’m glad you’re happy and you found your Jamie. Jamie, if you can hear me, take good care of our girl.”
With that, the doorbell rang and Joe went to greet his guests.
*************
Claire woke with a start bringing Jamie to instant alertness. He grabbed the pistol he kept by his bedside in preparation for any threat. Seeing none, he turned to look at Claire. She looked like she had seen a ghost.
“Sassenach, what’s amiss? Are ye alright?”
“I dreamt...I dreamt I was back in Boston going to play poker with the other surgeons. It was our regular night to play. The game was at Joe’s house and there was this blizzard.”
“Poker? What kind of game do ye play with a poker?” he was afraid to ask. Claire had told him so many peculiar stories about her time that he thought this would be another one. The only poker he knew about was the kind used in a fireplace.
“It’s a card game. I was rather good at it too. Someday I’ll have to teach you.” Claire snuggled up against Jamie seeking his heat, his comfort. She yawned greatly, “Except I will miss my green visor.”
“A vi-zor?” All he could envision was a knight’s helmet with a visor covering the eyes and face.
“It’s a sort of hat with a green brim. It shades your eyes and some of your face. People use it to hide their facial expressions when they bluff at cards.”
Jamie looked at her as if she were a bit daft. He knew nothing could hide her thoughts on that glass face. He tucked her head under his chin, “Come, Sassenach, rest yer head, aye? I think ye had a bit of the nightmare. I’ll keep ye warm and safe.” He lowered his head placing a kiss on the top of her head.
Jamie closed his eyes and thought about the black man he had seen in his dreams too. “Aye, dinna fash, Joe. I’ll care for her with my life,” he whispered just before lapsing into sleep.
A/N:
VOLVULUS: A volvulus occurs when part of the colon or intestine twists. The twisting causes bowel obstructions that may cut off the blood supply to areas of the bowels. This can cause the bowel to die or left untreated the person can die.
RENT: This involves a story. When I was in catechism class the teacher was telling the story of Christ’s trial before the Pharisees. When Jesus was condemned one of the Pharisees was said to have rent his garment. You say that to a bunch of kids and they start to giggle. They wanted to know who he rented his clothes to and for how much. So the teacher explained that to rent something meant to tear it apart violently. I fell in love with the word’s usage and I never thought I would get to use it in this way. But I did!
And poor Jamie, Claire’s stories always leave his surprised, confused, shocked among other feelings.
The truth behind this story was that it was supposed to be smutty. Instead, it evolved into this. It was supposed to happen that the Ridge was also snowed-in. Claire was bored with playing chess with Jamie and wanted to play something else. She wanted to teach him strip poker. So I left myself an opening if I chose to do a second chapter. But I have to finish E2B first.
I hope you liked this and it brought a smile to your face.
EDINBURGH TO BOSTON - CHAPTER 15 - AN EXAMINATION OF CONSCIENCE
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Good evening all! As promised here is Chapter 15 of Edinburgh to Boston. This picks up right after Chapter 14. Our lovebirds grappling with the argument they had. As the title implies there is a lot of soul searching going to happen.
At the end, I will include some interesting information. At least, I think it’s interesting.
I do need to thank my betas for their magnificent and tireless help, suggestions, and comments. Thank you @curlsgetdemgurls and @scubalass. You guys keep me on my toes and push me to do my best. Honestly, a lot of work on the part of @scubaless went into this and unjumbled the mess I made at times. How do I thank @curlsgetdemgurls who always tells me I can do this and supports my desire to write. I am truly blessed to have you both. I honestly don’t know how I would do this without you. 🧡🧡🧡🧡
As always I welcome any thoughts suggestions, comments you would like to share with me.I hope you enjoy reading. Without further ado I give you:
Edinburgh To Boston
Chapter 15
An Examination of Conscience
***********
Click!
Claire stood mutely watching as the door closed with a muffled and insubstantial sound. Biting her upper lip, she watched the handle for any sign of movement. She fully expected it would reopen momentarily and Jamie would walk through. Nothing happened. With the bolt slipping into place, it created a barrier as strong as any prison wall between her and the man she loved.
She didn’t know what to do. Should she go after him or call him? At the edge of her vision, she caught a glimpse of his phone resting on the bedside table along with his wallet and money. “Idiot bloody man,” she huffed. She had no choice other than to wait. Maybe it would turn out for the best allowing him time to sort through his thoughts. Perhaps they both needed a little time away from each other to calm down and become more rational.
What a bloody mess this turned out to be. If Claire was honest with herself, she never expected that it would come to this, that he would leave. She fully believed that they would have a loud and impassioned fight concluding with...what? Forgiveness? Compromise? Possibly the dissolution of their tender three-day-old relationship? At this point, she didn’t know what to think.
Needing a distraction, Claire began to set the room right. Taking a large bath sheet, she wiped up the spilled whisky and the broken crystal discarding everything into a wastebasket. Jamie’s still sodden jeans rested on the floor where he had discarded them earlier anxious to crawl into the warm bed and into a still warmer Claire. “Ye ken the fastest way to warm up is with body heat,” he murmured erotically against her ear. She did know and had shivered in anticipation of his intention.
Her jeans and jumper left a trail from the door to the bed. The lacey black bra that he removed, lay on the floor. Her skimpy panties drooped from one of the four posts of the bed, like a flag hanging limply in a windless sky.
She felt like a live wire skittering across the ground shooting off sparks. Remaining on edge and unable to concentrate, she padded around the room picking things up and putting them down. Every little noise or echo of a footfall in the hallway drew her attention. “He’ll be back, won’t he?” she said to herself.
Scanning the room she saw reminders of him wherever she looked. His shaving kit, suit, shoes, jeans, jumper, cologne. She ran her hand over his things aching with the need to connect to him. His touch, his scent, his look. The room felt empty. Not because of the lack of his physicality in the space, but from his essence. Jamie filled a space with his being. Claire suddenly felt lonely. She missed him already - terribly.
Exhaling a huge sigh, she walked over to the window, peering down at the street. She had a very strange sensation that Jamie just might be standing down there next to a lamppost looking up at the window. From her perch high above the street, she had a commanding view of the area around the hotel. The street was devoid of people. Not even a taxi cruised around looking for passengers. Even though Claire knew that it a foolish thought, she couldn’t help feeling disappointed she didn’t see him standing there. She rubbed the glabella, the tender skin between her eyebrows, in an effort to thwart a beginning headache.
Relationships are complicated things, she considered. For Claire, relationships were hard for her because she has trust issues. A gift courtesy of one Frank Randall. She gave him her heart, love, and trust only to have him toss everything carelessly away like a worn-out, useless, old shoe. She was hurt, betrayed, and doubtful to ever trust another man again. And then Jamie Fraser walks into her life. After working with him for over a year, she knew him as a kind, thoughtful, gentle, considerate, loving man.
In spite of their close working relationship, Claire continued to hold back her feelings, her trust. She knew Jamie to be a good man and it wasn’t that she didn’t trust him because she did. Well, professionally she trusted him implicitly. Personally, she did but... Maybe it’s because she feared how he would judge her if he knew the whole truth. Whatever the case, she thought he deserved someone better than her. She didn’t blame him for leaving after the way she treated him. Truth be told, she all but forced him out after insinuating that he was to blame for what happened.
Claire knew that Frank had been watching them. He admitted it to her. ‘I’ve been watching you with him all night. What the fuck do you see in that Neanderthal?’ She also knew that Frank observing her with Jamie fanned the flames of his jealousy. He always had been a jealous and possessive man. Come to think of it, Claire refected, this is just like the time he almost thrashed poor Albert, the young assistant professor that had the misfortune of spending time with and talking with her.
Albert took pleasure at her admiring his wit. Frank watched from the sidelines following her every move, smile, or laugh. He watched and drank, drank and watched until sufficiently drunk enough to physically menace the younger faculty member. Dragging her out of the party, he called her every vile name he could think of slut, whore, tramp bringing tears to her eyes. “You're mine, Claire. I don’t share well. You are my wife and you had better act like it. Don’t do it again,” he threatened. “Or so help me, I’ll…” He raised his hand to strike her. “Or you’ll do what Frank, beat me?” she called his bluff and succeeded. He dropped his hand grabbed her and pulled her to their car.
She exhaled deeply and walked away from the window. Claire knew that neither she nor Jamie could have changed what happened in the restaurant. Frank, hellbent on creating trouble, would have followed them determined to create mayhem.
She knew deep in her heart she wronged Jamie. Letting her anger get the better of her, she created a wedge between them. She knew she needed to admit her mistakes and tell the truth about her life with Frank. He needed to understand. No more secrets. No more lies.
Claire yawned and stretched feeling overwhelming fatigue settle over her. She hadn’t slept much since they arrived in Boston. It became an emotional roller coaster fueled from jetlag, too much alcohol, the newfound intimacy with Jamie and the disaster in the restaurant. No wonder she felt exhausted. She decided to rest while waiting for Jamie to return. Spying one of the tee shirts he had recently worn, she walked over picked it up and inhaled deeply. It smelled of him. Heady, musky, woodsy with a slight undertone of citrus from his aftershave. Claire pulled off her sleep shirt and put his on. It was too big, baggy, and shapeless on her small frame. Running her hands over the fabric, she felt the softness of it from frequent use. She climbed into the bed, breathing in his scent. She pretended that instead of his shirt wrapped around her, she lay enveloped in his arms and protected by his body. I’ll make it right. I must. Slowly she drifted off to sleep.
**********************************
Ding!
The elevator door slid open with a soft whoosh permitting Jamie Fraser to step in. Entering the lift, he leaned against the glass wall dropping his head back to rest against the cool slick surface. He needed to get away, clear his mind, try to figure things out.
An enigma. A puzzle. A mystery. How else to describe Claire? Damn the woman. He only wanted to offer her comfort, tenderness. Instead, she turned away from him. She says one thing I love you and only you and then she rejects him. Why would she do that? Frustrating. Infuriating. Confusing.
He sought oblivion. Tonight was a double-edged sword. On one hand, he wanted to understand what was happening with his Sassenach. Then, again, he wanted to forget and to reduce the memory of this evening to ashes. Raising the bottle of whisky to his lips, he drank deep. The spirit slipped across his tongue cascading down his throat followed by its familiar burn.
The door slid open allowing Jamie to exit into the main lobby. He strode past the reception desk.
“Dr. Fraser, can I be of assistance?” The pretty receptionist inquired.
“Thank ye kindly lass, but no.” His face appeared slightly flushed.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to call a car for you. It’s quite cold out. Definitely not a night to be on foot.”
“I’m a Highlander, born and bred. I’m used to the cold, ye ken?” With that, he exited through the hotel’s sliding doors into the fridge embrace of a Bostonian winter. Jamie searched the pockets of his jacket for his cap and gloves finding neither. He also discovered he neglected to bring his wallet, money, or phone. “I’ll do,” he muttered to himself. Mercifully, his jacket had a hood which he pulled up over his head while cramming his hands, carefully, into his pockets. His bottle of whisky tucked into a pocket inside his jacket.
Lacking familiarity with Boston, he wondered where he should go, though it really didn’t matter. He was not out to sightsee but out to clear his head.
Taking another long drink from the bottle, he turned to his left and began to walk, then jog, eventually running without direction. He slipped and slid on the black ice, tumbling into a snowbank laughing at his own foolishness. He was drunk, very drunk, he thought as he took another big gulp of the whisky. His Da always said, “Yer never drunk if ye can still stand up.” And he was still standing, albeit with the assistance of the snowbank, but standing he was.
Jamie found himself back at Boston Commons where he spent the day with Claire. He walked slowly through the whispering white silence of the park looking at the places where they had gone. The park had an ethereal feel to it. Streetlamps cast shadows across the park’s snow-encrusted expanse giving shape and form to the spectors hiding in the gloom. Evergreen trees, tall, imposing, majestic released their sharp piney tang around him. Deciduous trees with branches bare, naked without their leaves, covered with smatterings of snow or encased in ice. The wind howled through the trees causing clumps of snow to drop around him. At night, the park became a desolate place reflecting the wretchedness of his soul.
He came across the spot where they met the sparrow family. Collapsing onto the cold bench, he found himself surrounded by the memories of the day.
“The lass has ye twisted around her wee finger, ye ken? Ye even speak to birds if it makes her happy. She’s even gotten you to believe that they have the souls of her dead family,” he snorted. He sat there shaking his head. “What wouldn’t ye do for her? Nuthin’. Then why is this so hard? If she doesna want to have the scoundrel arrested, then let her have it. She has her reason, Fraser. Ye trust her word, do ye no’? Aye, I do. Then leave her be. She’ll tell ye why when she’s ready or when she can.”
“Remember lad, she’s been hurt.” Harry had said. “Be gentle wi’ her.”
“Aye, ‘tis all true, but why did she no’ discuss this agreement she made with me first? I mean we’re supposed to be partners.” His fingers tapped out a rhythmic tattoo against his thigh as he sat in contemplation. “Ye ken the reason, ye eejit. Ye would have said no. She did this for ye, tae protect ye. Tae sacrifice herself for ye. No’ because she loves the man. She loves ye enough tae do such a thing.”
Jamie knew all this within his innermost heart, but he still wanted justice for her. He did not want to be the one causing her to lose that chance.
“Besides,” he told himself, “ye heard her, she blames me for what happened. For failing tae protect her, for leaving her for,” he choked, “no’ being the man she needs.” Abruptly he realized that he also broke his promise to the bird family.
‘I promise tae see her safe, care for her and love her all the days of my life,’ he vowed to the birds. Jamie slammed his hand down on the bench. “Ifrinn! Fraser, ye are useless, and no’ a man of honor. Ye couldna even keep yer word tae a cluster of sparrows now could ye? If ye canna do something as simple as that, how could ye keep yer word tae Claire? Ye dinna deserve her.” He took another drink, the bottle very nearly empty.
He saw the bird tree just a short distance from where he sat. Feeling the need to apologize, Jamie staggered toward the tree calling out loudly, “If ye can hear me wee birds, I am sorry, sae sorry. I let her down and ye as weel. I’m no’ a man.” He hung his head in shame but quickly his anger rose to the surface.
He unleashed his fury against the tree hitting it hard reinjuring his right hand causing it to become scraped and bleeding. The pain from the single blow shot white-hot up his arm into his oxter. He collapsed into a mound of still soft snow at the base of the conifer. He let loose a torrent of Gàidhlig curses and self-deprecating rants. Hanging his head between his knees, Jamie took a deep breath trying to stem the waves of pain, nausea, and dizziness gripping him. No good. Heaving and retching, his stomach turned itself out of whisky and bile. He felt numb, tired and decidedly less drunk than before.
“What a waste of that verra fine whisky,” he ironically thought as he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.
It was cold, colder than before. “Weel, yer sitting in the snow, yer no’ dressed for the weather, and yer just vomited up all yer antifreeze, what do ye expect?”
The problem, he considered, came down to where to go. He could go back to the hotel but he did not want to see Claire, just yet. He didn’t have his wallet with his credit card nor did he have any money. As he saw it, he needed to keep moving to stay warm. He stood up with great difficulty. Choosing a random direction, he began to walk. Jamie began to feel better walking. After walking about five blocks he came upon a Church with a brightly lit sign outside.
Cold? Tired? Hungry? Or just need a place for the night? The Lord Loves You. All are welcome!
He looked up and saw a statue of Blessed Michael the Archangel standing guard over the entrance.
“Blessed Michael of the Red Domain defend us,” he thought and knew he had found a safe refuge for the remainder of the night.
Brother Stanislaus Kostka possessed an imposing figure. In his previous life, he was a former naval corpsman serving with a marine unit. He had blonde wavy hair, kind green eyes, and maintained a muscular physique hidden by his simple religious habit. He wore a brown habit with a hood, a cord wound around his waist and sandals. The cincture tied around his waist had the characteristic three knots symbolizing poverty, chastity, and obedience. A black rosary hung from the cingulum completing his attire.
Jamie stood quietly in the back of the shelter, observing the clergyman caring for his flock. The friar had a gentleness and compassionate way that emanated from him. A woman had approached him with a problem, to which he devoted his full attention. After considering and weighing the possible alternatives he smiled and presented his proposal. The woman grinned nodded in acceptance, then moved away.
Looking up he spotted Jamie standing in the doorway waiting to be acknowledged.
Brother Stan turned his attention to Jamie. “How can I help you tonight, my friend?” His smile could warm a person through and through.
“Beggin’ yer pardon, Father, but I need a place to stay for the night,” Jamie apologized.
“It’s Brother, Mr…?”
“Fraser, but ye can call me Jamie.”
“Welcome, Jamie. It seems you had a difficult night so far. You know there is always room at the Lord’s table for one more.” Looking at Jamie he took in his appearance and observed his battered and bruised hand.
“So Mr. Fraser, er Jamie, come with me and let’s get a look at that hand?” He turned away not waiting for an answer. Jamie followed and they walk into a small room both office and treatment room.
“May I ask how you injured your hand?” asked the Brother as he set up what he needed to care for Jamie’s hand.
Jamie looked abashed. “I, ah, had an argument with (what do I call her?) Claire the woman I love. And I got drunk. I needed time to think things over. So, I jogged to the park and my anger got the best of me, and I took it out on a tree.”
Brother Stan went about the task of caring for the wounds removing any splinters that he found.
Jamie hissed as the open areas were cleaned and dressed. “I have two hairline fractures of my right third and fourth fingers. I, um, somehow lost the splints that were there. Could ye make something temporary to put there?”
“How did you acquire the fractures?”
“‘I was in a fight last night defending a friend’s honor. I ken how it sounds like I’m some kinda drunken brawler, but ‘tis no’ true.”
“And would this friend be, Claire?”
“Aye, ‘twas.”
By this time, Brother Stan had cleaned and dressed the wounds. “I see,” he nodded solemnly.
Giving Jamie a direct look, Brother Stan inquired, “You are troubled. How can I help you?”
He considered this offer to help. “Ye can let me into yer chapel to pray and ask the Lord’s guidance.”
“Usually, we don’t allow people in the chapel alone at night.”
Jamie leaned back in his chair adopting his storyteller pose. “Let me tell ye a story. ‘Tis a tradition in the Fraser clan that parents make a rosary for each child for their First Communion. My Da carved each of the beads and the crucifix. My Mam strung the beads together thinking on the Glorious Mysteries. As she placed each bead, she said a Hail Mary, Our Father, or the Glory Be in the appropriate place. They had it blessed by a priest and it was gifted to me on the morning of my First Communion. I put it away after and dinna think much on it again until they died. Then it became the most precious thing I owned. I would ride out on my horse and go tae the old deserted churches in the Highlands and there I would pray. I would pray my rosary, the one they gave me, and it gave me comfort as I believed they were near me. Now, I’m asking ye to grant me another chance for comfort, tae talk tae the Lord so I ken what tae do. I dinna have my rosary with me, but I’ll do. Can ye help me?” Jamie placed his left hand over Brother Stan’s appealing for understanding.
Emerald green met sapphire blue seeking the truth and asking for help.
Brother Stan’s hand went to the cord around his waist and removed his rosary. “Tonight you can use mine.”
They rose and silently walked through the slumbering mass of people. Homeless men, women with children, battered women, runaways, lost souls, those down on their luck. Jamie looked around committing this sight to memory.
As they ascended the stairs to the chapel, the scent of beeswax and incense hung heavy in the air. On the right of the main altar was a shrine to the Holy Family while on the left was a shrine dedicated to St. Michael. The red sanctuary lamp was lit hanging near the main altar announcing the presence of the Lord.
In accordance with the custom of the Roman Rite, both Jamie and Brother Stan dipped their fingers into the holy water font and crossed themselves in the Sign of the Cross. Brother Stan gripped Jamie’s shoulder before leaving, “May your heart find comfort and your soul know peace. The Lord be with you. If you have need of me, you know where I will be.”
“Thank ye for everything,” Jamie replied choking with emotion.
Brother Stan nodded and left.
Jamie walked to the center aisle, genuflected, got down on his knees, then lay prostrate before his God in humility, respect, and penance.
“Lord God, please let me understand her.
Let me shelter her from all danger, pain, and sorrow.
Let me be her sanctuary, her safe port in a storm.
Let me keep her safe; her protector from what seeks tae harm her.
Let me help her tae find peace, happiness, joy, and love.
Let me be her home the place where her heart resides.
Let me love her rightly.
God, oh God, please let me be enough.”
And he wept.
****************************
Claire woke up looking at the time on the bedside clock. Ill-temperedly it announced 3:38 AM. Shit, she only meant to take a brief nap not fall asleep. Rubbing her eyes ridding them of residual sleep, she scanned the room looking for...
“Jamie?” There was no answer. The opposite side of the bed was cold and not been slept in. There was no sign of him.
Claire began to panic, her heart racing, fingers cold and sweaty. What if something happened to him? What if he had fallen and gotten hurt? He could be lost. Maybe he was hit by a car? Her imagination ran wild imagining different catastrophes that could have befallen him.
Deciding not to let panic consume her, she thought maybe he fell asleep in the lobby not wanting to wake her up. Calling down to the front desk, she discovered he had left about three hours ago. According to the receptionist Jamie did not say where he was going. The young woman did notice that he turned to his left when he exited the building.
Foolish man, where could he have gone to? Guilt engulfed her. She should have gone after him when he left. She should have never left him alone. She would never forgive herself if something happened to him.
Claire decided to look for him and dressed quickly. Where he could have gone, she had no idea. But she was damned if she was going to sit here to wait and worry. She grabbed his warm coat, gloves, scarf, hat, and his wallet. Claire thought having his wallet could prove useful as it would serve as a means of identification. Although, a very tall red-headed man would be easy to spot.
Claire turned left following Jamie’s assumed route, hoping luck would be on her side.
Walking the empty streets, she began to wonder where he could have gone. She trudged along for several blocks before noticing that this is the way to Boston Commons. Of course. That’s where he would go. The open spaces would be a balm to his soul. She hurried quickly over the icy walkways.
She reached Boston Commons and followed the path they had taken. There was no sign of him. She passed by a tree and found an almost empty bottle of whisky that she recognized from the hotel along with a fair amount of vomit. So! He had been here. She looked around and did not see him. “Jamie, where are you? Jamie!” But there was no answer.
Claire continued walking, looking for any sign as to where he could have gone. She followed the path out of the park and walked straight for several blocks until coming across a welcome sign posted by a church. The sign welcomed anyone in need of a place to stay. She wondered if he would have gone in until she looked up and saw the imposing statue of Blessed Michael the Archangel and knew. Michael was important to the Scots. They often petitioned him for assistance in a time of need.
“No harm in asking,” she considered. Descending down the stairs, Claire entered the shelter and observed Brother Stan at work talking, comforting, praying. Looking around she did not see any red curls anywhere. Just as she was about to leave, Brother Stan approached her.
“May I help you?” he asked a gentle smile across his lips.
“Well, maybe. I am looking for a tall red-headed Scotsman that…”
“Are you Claire, by chance?”
She gaped at him. “How did you know? Jamie, is he here? Where is he? Is he alright?” Claire babbled. She frantically scanned the room again. How hard could it be to find him here?
“He is here and safe. Though he re-injured his broken hand, I’m afraid. I had to pull several splinters out of his hand. He had a run-in with a tree, it seems,” he said with a little smirk.
“Take me to him, please,” she pleaded. He was hurt and she hadn't been there to care for him. She felt uneasy until she could see him with her own eyes.
“He is upstairs in the chapel, praying. Come I will take you.”
“Praying?”
“Yes, he said it would bring him comfort and peace.”
They walked up the same stairs and repeated the same blessing. “Go to him. Be with him. He needs you.”
“Thank you Father for everything.”
“You’re welcome my dear. Oh and it is Brother, not Father. The Lords’ peace be with you both.”
Brother Stan left silently as he did before.
Claire put Jamie’s things down in a pew, and soundlessly approached the man she loves.
Kneeling down beside him, she hesitated wanting so much to touch him. Wanting to stroke his soft curls to give him comfort. To reassure herself he was real. But she felt afraid to startle him out of his deep meditations.
Instead, she whispered softly, “Jamie, it’s me, Claire.”
***********************
Interesting things:
St. Stanislaus Kostka is the patron saint of broken bones. So I named the Brother after him.
In the mood board, the picture of the church in the left upper corner is a church devoted to St. Stanislaus Kostka. It is located in Brooklyn.
The Marine Corps is part of the Naval services and do not have their own medics. So that’s why Brother Stan served as a naval corpsman.
You all noticed I didn’t say anything about Chapter 16 and I’m not going to either.
Good evening everyone! Finally, chapter 13 of Edinburgh to Boston is ready. As the title implies Jamie and Claire will both be dealing with the results of the evening's events. There is a continuation of Claire’s recollection of the events that led to the ending of her marriage to Frank. We also get to meet Joe.
I do need to thank my betas for their magnificent and tireless help, suggestions, and comments. Thank you @curlsgetdemgurls and @scubalass. You guys keep me on my toes and push me to do my best.
As always I welcome any thoughts suggestions, comments you would like to share with me.
I hope you enjoy reading.
Without further delay, I give you:
Edinburgh to Boston
Chapter 13
The Aftermath
She was in her element. Healing. She would go to help anyone in need, young or old, rich or poor, good or bad. It didn’t matter to her. If someone needed her help, she would be there. He knew and loved her for it. But why did she feel the need to help Randall, especially after what he had done?
Jamie didn’t like it. He didn’t believe that the fucker deserved her assistance. In his opinion, if anyone cared to ask him, the bugger could just lay there and rot. He could rot here now and in hell through all eternity for everything he had done and just did to her. He did feel a momentary twinge of guilt about these feelings, though, as he is a doctor too. This time, he thought, he could look away from his Hippocratic oath and do nothing to help. It made his skin crawl to watch her help him after he molested her. He wanted to vomit and felt the bile rise up, hot and bitter, burning his throat. Swallowing hard, he forced the acrid fluid back from whence it came. He could do something, he reasoned. He could pick her up throw her over his shoulder, albeit while she was kicking and screaming, and carry her as far away from the bastard as possible. Besides, he wanted to finish the job. To feel every bone in Randall’s body snap like a twig. That’s what he wanted. He is a jealous and protective man when it comes to those he loves. But, Beauchamp! By Christ, the woman causes him to have this overwhelming need to keep her safe. Why does she make him feel this way?
Sitting there with his hand in the bucket of ice and a murderous look on his face, he took in the scene playing out before him. His eyes, like a blue-eyed eagle, roamed over the scene, watching, observing. Every movement, every slight nuance of body language or facial expression between them did not go unnoticed. He kept his body taut like the string of a bow with an arrow nocked and ready to fly free. He would not be caught unaware again. One wrong move and he would pounce. If he broke more bones in his hand, what did he care? Better yet, one swift kick to the man’s bollocks should do it. Aye, drop him like a stone. He chuckled to himself at the thought. Fair’s, fair after all. The filthy git grabbed Claire’s mmhmm, why shouldn’t he kick his in for good measure. That would solve a myriad of problems. It would wipe that look off his face. A look that said he still wanted her.
The rogue could not be more mistaken. The lass is his now and he would not give her up, not without a fight.
Abruptly, his thoughts took off in multiple directions. What had delayed her following him? Did Claire stop to talk to the man? Did he stop her from leaving? Damn, he hadn’t seen what happened. He wanted to leave in such a hurry to reach the safety of their room that he had no idea what transpired after he left. And she paid the price for his mistake.
“God, Jamie, yer such an eejit,” he scolded himself. “How could ye go off and leave her behind like that?! Ye ken what the man is like. Ye shoulda given her yer arm to take, like a proper man. No’ leaving her to fend him off. Ye failed her when she needed ye the most. Ye promised to always protect her, see her safe. And what did ye do, ye great numpty? Ye left her.”
An icy chill ran down his spine. It did not come from keeping his hand in the cold bath. His eyebrows arched, eyes opened wide, and his jaw hung open. Maybe she blamed him for what happened to her? “Weel, why not, ye do. Ye were no’ there when she needed ye, were ye? Ye showed up after he did her damage. Then, ye come running up to inflict yer own brand of mayhem and carnage.”
Maybe he took things too far, he wondered. Maybe she did not want vengeance laid at her feet. Would she think him a barbarian? What if she still wanted the filthy sassenach? Could she? If she did, could he be brave enough to simply walk away and let her be happy? He froze at the possibility. “God, no! Please, dinna let it be true,” he prayed. Living a life without her by his side chilled him to his bones.
A knot formed in his throat choking him. His chest tightened and his heart began to pound and squeeze. Breathing came in short gasping gulps. Still analytical, he thought that this is what it feels like to die. Aye, better to die here and now than live without her. With his good hand, he fumbled to loosen his tie and open the top button of his shirt. Air! He needed air. Taking several deep calming breaths, his heart began to slow and his breathing normalized. Quieting his raging emotions, he realized he could deny her nothing even if it came at his own expense. If that's what she wanted, then he would find the strength to step aside and learn to live with only half a heart. For her, he would and could do anything. He hung his head as a single crystalline tear ran down his face.
“Jamie love, does it hurt much?” she asked as she gently wiped the watery bead from his face with the pad of her thumb.
Looking up he beheld the glory of the sun in those golden eyes. Glistening wetly, his lashes clumped together.
“Claire, I thought, mebbe...I...I wasna sure if ye…Mebbe ye didnae want...” He looked at her with a helpless expression and fearful of what she might say or do.
“Tell me what’s wrong? Are you hurt anywhere else?” Quickly, her glass face became inscribed with worry while searching for additional damage.
“Nay lass, I am whole except for…” He raised his large paw up showing it to her. His hand and splint remained dry but felt icy cold. The ice kept the swelling to a minimum.
Claire sensed that something was bothering him, but she did not want to push him to tell her. She knew he would in his own time. Or at least she hoped he would. She decided to move on to a different pressing matter.
“Jamie, you need X-rays and an orthopedic evaluation. Joe Abernathy sent an ambulance for Frank. We can go in the ambulance with him. It will all be handled discreetly.”
His eyes narrowed and a dark shadow floated over his face. “NO,” he snarled hotly. I willna ride in an ambulance with that, that…” What followed was a string of Gàidhlig invectives the likes that Claire never heard before. She whispered a prayer of gratitude that she didn’t understand.
“You bloody stubborn Scot! You’re a surgeon and you need functioning hands. Has the thought occurred to you?” They were nose to nose now, glaring and hissing like two cats readying for battle. Neither would give in.
“Dr. Fraser, Dr. Beauchamp, may I offer my assistance?” Padrick the hotel chauffeur inclined his head smartly to them. “I heard of the, um, unfortunate altercation,” Padrick turned to scowl at Frank, “and thought I might offer my services. I could take you wherever you need to go.”
Jamie turned his head to Claire giving her a smug look. See I told ye there was nae need to ride in an ambulance with yon villain.
She gave her head a small shake and rolled her eyes heavenward.
“Thank you, Padrick, we appreciate your assistance. We need to go to Massachusetts General Hospital. Dr. Abernathy is expecting us. Do you think that someone could go to our room and bring our coats down? Oh, and there is a large multi-color silk scarf in the closet, could someone bring that too?”
“I will speak to the hotel manager, Dr. Beauchamp. I’m sure something can be arranged.”
“Excellent. I’ll go speak to Pierre and tell him an ambulance is on its way. I’ll be right back, Jamie.”
“Alright, Sassenach.” He continued to scowl at the Englishman with an intense ferocity.
Claire approached the restaurant captain to tell him about the outcome of her discussions. “An ambulance is on the way for Professor Randall. He chose not to press charges against Dr. Fraser. Likewise, I shall not press charges against him.”
“But Madam, how can you let such a thing go unpunished?” he squeaked in shocked surprise. “This hotel has a reputation for turning its face away from many things, but this??”
“It is for the best for all concerned, Pierre.” Her gaze slowly gravitating toward Jamie. “But, thank you for your concern.” She took hold of both his hands and squeezed them lightly.
“As you wish, Madam,” he shook his head in disagreement. “But should you ever change…”
“I won’t. I believe that he will keep his word. He has much more to lose than I do.”
The maître d' sighed shaking his head in disagreement.
Noise from the front of the restaurant signaled the arrival of the EMS crew. The female surgeon provided an outline of the patient’s injuries to the Paramedic.
The rescue team swiftly performed their own evaluation, lifted Frank, placed him onto the stretcher, wrapped him warmly, departing swiftly.
Padrick appeared with the requested coats and scarf. Claire quickly fashioned the scarf into a sling for Jamie’s arm. She helped him into his coat, as he clutched his injured hand against his chest.
“Thank ye, a leannan,” he said leaning over to place a kiss on her forehead.
She smiled, took his uninjured arm, “Let’s go and get that hand examined, hmm, Fraser?”
“Aye, Beauchamp, as ye say.”
They walked out of the restaurant to hooting, cheering, and applause. Jamie turned bright red at the attention directed their way.
“Um, Sassenach, just what did I do?” He looked rather embarrassed.
“You don’t remember, do you?”
“I dinna recall much. Just that I needed to make him pay for what he did to ye.”
“That you did, my lad. And you made him pay handsomely,” she smirked. “Your Viking berserker ancestors have nothing on you. Just don’t make it a habit of going howling in the woods wrapped in a wolf’s hide while you’re starkers,” she added with a mischievous grin on her face.
“Sassenach, what are ye on about?” His eyebrows raised with a curious look on his face.
“Never mind,” giggled the archeologist’s niece.
The chauffeur had the car at the entrance of the hotel waiting for them. They entered the car and drove to the hospital in a comfortable silence.
Joe Abernathy stood sheltered off to the side of the ambulance bay waiting for his two friends.
“Claire! Jamie!” he called out when they arrived.
“Joe, it’s so good to see you,” exclaimed Claire.
“Aye, it truly ‘tis a pleasure tae meet ye. Only I wish it were under different circumstances,” said Jamie as he waggled his hand.
“No matter. It’s wonderful to meet you. I hope you have been taking good care of our girl here?” Joe inquired pulling his best friend into a warm embrace.
Jamie winced at that. His cheeks flush with the heat of shame; his guilt rising to the surface again.
“I’m doing the best I can, ye ken. She is no’ an easy woman to take care of, aye?” He ran his hand through his hair ruffling it so it stood on end.
Joe laughed heartily clapping Jamie on the back, “Brother, you have no idea! Come on, let’s get you to radiology.”
A transporter with a wheelchair waited inside the bay and whisked Jamie away as he protested he could walk unaided. That idea was summarily vetoed.
Joe’s attention shifted to his friend. “How are you LJ, really?”
She turned her head away, not wanting to meet his eyes. Those golden hawk eyes now went hollow with the forced remembrances of a time longing to be forgotten.
“Fine, perfectly fine,'' she uttered unconvincingly.
Abernathy stopped and took her by the shoulders, “That speaks volumes. I know what that means. Now, what’s wrong, Claire? What are you not telling me? How are you after Frank...”
It happened more than three years ago. She sat with Lamb in his home while he took in her battered and bruised appearance. She had tried to escape. What she got for her effort was a face smashed against the chest of drawers. A dark blue-purple contusion now blossomed on her cheek where her face had met wood. Her lips swelled, split oozing blood whenever she spoke. The white flesh of her arms bore his finger marks. The imprints turned into livid purple things. Malicious mementos of his grip when he forced himself into her. Her broken nails stood in silent testimony to the fierce battle she had engaged in.
Lamb gently took her hand in his wizened, time-worn one. She flinched as if to pull away from his loving touch. “Oh, my dearest girl, whatever has he done to you?” As he gazed upon the disfigured face of his beloved niece he heard the sound of his heartbreaking. It made a rather small, soft sound something akin to the snapping of the stem of a flower off at the root.
“Honestly, Uncle, I’m sure you can see for yourself.” Claire wiped her nose on the back of her hand distantly observing the streaks of mucus stained with blood now smearing her hand. Pearls of moisture gathered at the corners of her eyes flowing like raindrops intent upon washing away all traces of the taint and tarnish that covered her. Overwhelming her.
It took some time, but Lamb convinced his niece to seek medical help and to document her injuries. His lawyer met them at the hospital, gathered the needed information and testimony to begin legal proceedings immediately. The divorce moved forward uneventfully. She wanted nothing from her miserable marriage except her freedom. She opted to not press charges for assault, battery, and rape fearing how the press if they got hold of the story, would portray the sordid details. ‘Niece of the renowned archeologist, Quintin Lambert Beauchamp, raped.’ would have made great headlines. Having her life and her sham marriage dragged publically through the mud became unthinkable, intolerable. Truthfully, she did not think she could face Frank during the trial, either. Fear of what degrading or demeaning thing he would say about her strongly eliminated any desire to prosecute him. She simply wanted to run and hide and never look back, putting all the pain and shame behind her. She only wanted to begin her life over. As in cases of spousal abuse, the circumstances surrounding the severing of marital ties would remain sealed. She and her Uncle left Boston upon receiving the divorce decree. Lambert Beauchamp died a few months later leaving her alone. With only her unwanted memories and her ghosts for company. She never mentioned what happened to anyone.
“Frank!” she snorted, hot with fury. “I’m embarrassed, humiliated, angry.” Befouled actually describes it better she thought. “Honestly if I could, I would cut his heart out and have it for breakfast. But, I can’t do that can I?” Pressing the heel of her palm to her eye sockets, she willed away any chance of tears.
“I’ve decided not to prosecute Frank, although I would dearly love to see him behind bars.” For this and everything else, he has done. Claire began to pace gathering her thoughts into some cohesive form. “Trust me, I am not doing this to spare him anything. I’m doing this to protect Jamie. I don’t want him to do any further damage to his hands, bloody stubborn Scot! Or harm his reputation. He’s too good of a surgeon for that. It would be a great waste.” Her eyes hardened from soft liquid honey to hard fossilized amber. Her voice and manner became laced with a steely determination. She set a course of action and made a commitment to seeing it through.
“There is one other reason,” she exhaled wearily, “and that is to protect his students. Frank is a womanizer. I want to stop him from debauching any more naive young women. He is a brilliant teacher. He just can’t keep his hands to himself.” She knew what it was like to be held under his magnetic spell. Handsome. Debonaire. Cultured. Speaking in sweetened gilded words. The man, in essence, personified a true Lothario.
Joe looked at Claire, wide-eyed in disbelief, “LJ, it’s noble what you’re doing, but it’s still not right that he gets away unpunished for this.”
She reluctantly turned to face him, hands rubbing at both her temples, “I know, but it’s what I think, no, what I need to do.”
“The real problem is with Jamie. I haven’t told him yet that I am not pressing charges against Frank. I know he’ll be upset when I tell him. But I can’t tell him now.” Her face was pale, lips a taut line, her countenance anguished. “I’m afraid of what he’ll do. You should have seen him there! My God, I thought he’d kill him if I hadn’t stopped him. I don’t want to lose him. I can’t.”
“Do you love him LJ?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“You need to be honest with him, you know. You owe him that.”
Conflicting emotions roiled in her belly. She struggled with the need to keep him safe against the need to be honest with him. “I will tell him. In Scotland. He can’t do any more damage from there. It’s a risk, I know, but one I’m willing to take.”
She turned away from her friend. Her mood becoming more pensive. Speaking softly, almost so only she could hear, “I can’t lose him. I won’t! Whatever it takes to protect him, by God, I’ll do it.”
Jamie had become her heart and her soul. She would move heaven, hell, and anything else that came in her way to see him safe. To protect him. To keep him with her. He epitomized her last chance at happiness, for love. She loved him with more passion than she could have imagined possible.
Beauchamp hesitated before continuing, “It’s been so long since I felt anything for someone else, you know since I thought I could open my heart to another. I kept it impounded, safe under lock and key. Then, he comes along with those blue cat eyes, curly red hair, and boom! He just walks off with my heart. How did he do that, Joe, just how the hell did he do that?” This was a rhetorical question, one that Claire already knew the answer to, but she got an answer anyway.
“Lady Jane, did you really ever consider that he is the one?”
“Yes. Yes, I have and that’s just the point. It frightens me. I’ve never felt like this before, certainly not with Frank.” Claire scoffed. She puffed out her cheeks exhaled strongly, “I’m just afraid that it will all come crashing down around me. I don’t think I could bear it. I really don’t.”
Her face anxious, she looked for reassurance from her best friend.
“C’ mon here, LJ,” Joe smiled opening his arms in a comforting invitation. She stepped readily into his open waiting embrace. “You’re smart, funny, beautiful, and so many other things. The man would have to be a real asshole to let you go.”
“You’re just saying that because I’m your friend,” she smirked jabbing him in the ribs.
“And that’s because you have excellent taste in friends.” He gave her a sly conspiratorial wink.
At that moment, Joe and Claire could hear Jamie’s loud raucous laughter as he returned. “And the altar boy said to the prostit...Sassenach!? Are ye alright, then?” His muscles tightened. His whole body becoming alert. He surveyed the area looking for a possible threat.
What the hell happened now?
She looked different like some interminable heavyweight threatened to pull her down into the boundless sea. Drowning her, stealing her life-force, taking her away from him.
Producing a weak smile, Claire leaned over lightly kissing him on his temple, “Everything is fine, my lad, just fine.”
“Where are we to meet Dr. Nelson, Joe?”
“He’s waiting in exam room 6. Let’s go on over.”
Joe pushed the big Scot’s wheelchair toward the examining room.
“I’ll no’ go without Claire.” His tone became adamant. Twice he had left her alone and twice something happened. And he wasn’t there when it did. No more.
“Claire, mon cher, ça va?” A pretty petite brunette woman rushed up to clasping her warmly and kissed her cheeks.
“That’s Louise de la Tour, ENT. She’s attending to Frank’s broken nose. They were friends during their residency.”
“Aye, I see.” Jamie accepted this information.
“Joe, will ye tell me something honestly?”
“Of course, if I can,” he replied cautiously.
“What happened to Claire while I was having X-rays? I come back and she looks fair fashed.” He looked questioningly at his new friend.
Joe sighed, “You two need to talk about what happened. I told her she needs to be open and honest with you. You need to be truthful with her as well. There can be room for secrets sometimes but not lies.”
“Aye, that we do.” he began to wonder what she could have said.
Arriving at exam room 6, they found Dr. Nelson, a squat balding man with soft dove grey eyes, intently reviewing Jamie’s films.
“Dr. Fraser, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I reviewed your radiographs and there are simple hair-line fractures of your right third and fourth fingers. Nothing serious. Immobilization with a splint for several weeks should fix it right up.”
Dr. Nelson re-splinted Jamie’s fingers as Claire walked into the room.
“Ah, the lovely Dr. Beauchamp. Your quick thinking to splint the injury prevented further damage.” He noticed a frown on Claire’s face. “Not to worry, just two hair-line fractures, nothing that rest, ice, elevation, and immobilization won’t fix,” he smiled reassuringly at her. “And we’re done. Follow up with your orthopedist when you get home. You will need some physical therapy to maintain your dexterity. Good meeting you both.” The orthopedist smiled tiredly departing swiftly longing for the comfort of his bed.
Claire leaned over wrapped her arms around her love pressing a kiss onto his burnished curls. “Alright my lad, I think it’s time we get back to the hotel. It’s been a long day and even longer evening.” A profound weariness cast its shadow over her face. Dark smudges visible around her eyes; her shoulders drooping with fatigue.
Taking hold of her hand with his one sound one, he lightly returned the gesture brushing his lips to the palm of her hand. “It has been a long and very eventful day mo ghràdh. Ye look fair puggled,” he observed looking at her demeanor. “Ye need yer sleep.”
They left the exam room hand in hand, fingers twined together. Spotting Joe, they called out their thanks, bidding him goodnight.
Walking toward their waiting car, Jamie looked at his Sassenach a question burning in his mind. “Claire, I ken ye would want Frank (he nearly choked on the name) tended to first, but I’m wondering, when will ye give your statement to the police about what happened? I had expected to see them here.” He wanted to see them there. He wanted to see the look on the bastard’s face when they arrested him for assault.
Claire froze in place letting go of his hand. All the color drained from her face, her mouth went dry, and her hands became as cold as ice.
“Jamie…”
“What’s a miss, mo chridhe? Are ye no’ well?” He came to her side in an instant taking her hand in his. “Yer hand lass, yer chilled through,” his face registering worry and concern. He pulled her close to him offer his warmth to her. “What’s wrong?”
She could not look at him. She prayed the floor would open up swallow her whole sending her deep into the bowels of the earth never to be seen again.
He placed his thumb and forefinger on her chin lifting up her face to look at his. “Tell me. Ye ken ye can tell me anything a nighean.”
His hand warm, strong moved to cup her cheek. His thumb gently stroking her cheekbone.
Claire slid into his embrace, arms wrapped around his waist, her head resting on his chest. Safe. At this moment, she felt the security, love, and protection of his arms. She clung to him, wanting, no needing, to feel the solidness of him, the strength of him against her for what she believed would come to be the last time. When she would tell him of the agreement she made with Frank, Claire knew everything between them would change.
Edinburgh To Boston - Chapter 12 - At The Crossroads - A Deal With The Devil
Good evening all! I am excited to have Chapter 12 of Edinburgh To Boston ready. This is a far, far cry from what I normally write. And it comes with a warning: THE CONTENT IS GRAPHIC. DO NOT READ IF THIS KIND OF THING IS OBJECTIONABLE TO YOU!
I do need to thank @julesbeauchamp @smashing-teacups and @scubalass for being betas on this. I do want to thank @scubalass who called me out on several points of this story. I know this has made the story significantly better overall. She is a “dog with a bone,” and wouldn’t let it go.
As always, I welcome any thoughts, suggestions, comments, respectfully submitted, of course.
I hope you enjoy reading.
Without further delay, for better or worse, I give you:
Edinburgh to Boston
Chapter 12
At The Crossroads - A Pact With The Devil
“What the hell are you doing here, Frank?” Claire snarled her nostrils flaring.
“Why Claire, dear, what does it look like I’m doing? I’m having dinner. What do you think I’m doing here?” he said mockingly.
She snorted with derision. “With whom? Another one of your students? Taking advantage of some poor misguided girl?”
“Poor and misguided girl, no. One of my doctoral candidates, yes. We were discussing the best methodology to use in her dissertation. Sandy is a very bright girl.”
Jamie’s head spun from Claire to Frank. The fucking sassenach bastard! Shite, he dropped his guard just for a moment and look at what happened. He needed to put an end to this now. He needed to get Claire away from him.
Frank turned from Claire giving Jamie a cold stare, “You are remiss in your manners pet, you have yet to introduce me to your dinner companion.”
“Don’t call me that!” There was a marked note of threat in her voice.
Standing to his full impressive height, Jamie insinuated himself between the Englishman and his Sassenach effectively shielding her with his body.
Frank briefly staggered leaning into Jamie for balance as he tried to get closer to Claire. That would prove to be an impossibility. An impenetrable mountain-sized man stood guard over her preventing even the meerest of glimpses of her.
Christ, the man stank like a distillery, his eyes were glassy, tie askew, and his balance impaired. Jamie wondered how much the man already had to drink.
He also looked like a man with a chip on his shoulder. A man angry at the world.
His assumed a protective mode, body taut, jaw clenched, hands fisted at his side, ready to keep her safe. “Dr. James Fraser, Dr. Beauchamp’s partner,” his voice husky as he tersely introduced himself.
There was no pretense of civility, no offer of handshakes made. The men took on the aspect of two dogs sniffing each other reading to fight. Jamie’s posture defensive while Frank’s became increasingly aggressive.
“Now if ye will excuse us, we were just getting ready to leave,” Jamie said gruffly and offered his hand to Claire. “Come, lass ‘tis time we leave. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”
She took the proffered hand to get up. As she leaned over to reach for her purse, the wrap dropped exposing her whole back.
“Oh, ho! I think this is more than two colleagues simply having dinner together. You do look ravishing my dear,” Frank’s eyes raked over Claire’s body lasciviously. A body that was once his and now it belonged to…? His eyes then went to Jamie’s left hand observing the absence of a wedding ring. He looked at the Scot with contempt, how dare he claim something that was once his?
Her cheeks flushed crimson. What did it matter what he thought or what he thought he knew. The man was of no consequence to her anymore. And after all his liaisons past and present, who the hell was he to judge her?
Jamie helped adjust her shawl covering her once again. He knew that dress would be trouble.
He stood on the periphery of his limits struggling to control his anger. He needed to hit something or better yet someone. But, he did not want to cause a scene in the restaurant in front of Claire. Christ, he wanted to wipe that lecherous look off the arsehole’s face.
“Are ye ready, Sassenach?” Jamie asked tenderly as he turned to walk toward the front of the restaurant wanting to sign for the bill and return to the sanctuary of their room.
“Yes, let’s go. It’s been a long day,” She sighed.
“I guess this is it then. This is goodbye, Claire.”
Claire ignored Frank wanting to not have anything further to do with him. She turned and started to walk away.
“Who the hell do you think you are, Beauchamp? Think you’re better than me? You and your uncle always acting like you were better than anyone else, especially me. I’m talking to you, Claire,” he raised his voice causing the other patrons to turn and look. Frank grabbed Claire’s shoulder, spun her around to face him. She could feel his sweaty palm on her skin as he firmly seized her. He leaned in close enabling her to smell his fetid alcoholic breath skim hotly across her cheek.
It was obvious that he was drunk. The memories flooded back in a torrent. He often became hostile and threatening, even to the point of becoming physically abusive when he was deep in the drink. It had been years since she had seen him like this, morose and surly.
He had failed to make tenure and came home drunk. Of course, he blamed Lamb for his failures. He always did. Needless to say, she would be the one to pay the price. He demanded sex from her. “You like it rough, don't you, darling,” as he dragged her up to the bedroom. Frank threw her against a wall tearing at her clothes. She fought back but he was too strong. Naturally, he apologized the next day. “So sorry, old girl. I was drunk...pressure from work...the stress...a man needs the comfort of his wife in times like this...it will never happen again.” Yeah, you got that right. It will never happen again. He kissed her bloodied lips before he left for work leaving in a chipper mood like nothing had ever happened. Rising from the bed, she went to her closet. As she tugged her suitcase out of the closet, she dislodged a box that contained the love letters from his students. She took her few meager possessions and the box of letters. Battered and bruised, she left her home for what would be the last time for the safe haven she had with her Uncle. She never told anyone else other than Lamb what had happened. She never would.
She wanted to turn and leave just walk away from him now forgetting the whole ugly sordid mess that had been her time with Frank. But her loyalty to Lamb commanded her to stand her ground defending him against this pissant.
“DON’T. YOU. DARE. Lamb loved you like his own son and you betrayed both of us. Let go of me this instant you fucking sod.” Claire growled trying to pull her shoulder out of his grasp, but his grip tightened. For a man well into his cups, he was quite strong.
“I betrayed you and your uncle?! How little you know,” his voice dripped with sarcasm. “He wouldn’t share his research with me, hmm. Yes,” his speech slurred and he swayed slightly. “He said I had to earn the right to have it. I thought he meant all I had to do was marry you. But I was mistaken,” he laughed nastily. “You were a cunt then, and you’re still a cunt now. That’s all you were good for was a good fuck.” Frank drew closer narrowing the gap between them. His open hand familiarly cupped the space between her thighs, a part of her body that he once intimately knew. He stroked, squeezed and kneaded her like she still belonged to him. “You like that don’t you, bitch.”
Claire gasped, crying out, “JAMIEEE!”
Jamie turned his head and realized that Claire failed to follow him. He saw that mac na galla grabbing and touching her in a way no man wants to see happen to his woman.
“C L A I R E!” he bellowed in a hoarse angry voice. Christ, would no one go to help the lass?
Bystanders, diners, wait staff, were all stunned into inaction watching the tableau unfold around them not able to believe what their eyes told them.
With eyes narrowed dangerously, mouth grimly set, he pushed his way through the crowd recklessly. He must get to her. Waiters carrying heavily laden trays with dinners were knocked out of the way. Food flew about, dishes and silverware crashed to the floor, sending shards of china everywhere.
He watched Claire fighting and struggling with Frank. Taking her purse, she struck him about his head then clawed at his face. She kicked his ankle and stomped on his foot.
That’s it, lass, gie it to him. He took pride in how braw she was.
Observing Jamie’s approach, Frank called out loudly, “Had a piece of this yet, Fraser? I’ll bet you have. She likes to fuck and she’s good at it too. If she didn’t become a doctor, she could have made a good living as a whore. Did she ever su..”
Frank never got to finish his sentence as his face became acutely acquainted with Jamie’s fist.
There was something quite satisfying about being able to hear and to feel the nasal cartilage crunch with the impact of his fist. He knew he broke it on the first blow. Blood splattered out of Randall’s nose and mouth. He struck him about the face and eyes. That eye would be swollen shut and black come morn.
He was outside of himself now no longer the kind and gentle giant but a man consumed with rage. There was a blood lust coursing through his veins. A man blind with the need for vengeance. He would deliver blow after blow thus becoming her avenging angel to see justice done in her name. I fight for her.
He pummeled the filthy bastard in a trance-like fury reminiscent of his Viking berserker ancestors. He heard nothing, felt nothing, saw nothing other than the opponent before him.
He did, however, hear the voice of his Da. His Da had taught him how to fight, to defend himself. “Hit him in the soft parts, Jamie. Dinna waste time hitting yer opponent in the face. Ye’ll hurt yerself and no’ be able to defend yerself.” And he did as his father counseled him to do all those years ago. He struck his foe over, and over, and over again.
Slowly a soft musical voice began to cut through the haze in his mind. The voice called his name, told him to stop. The voice soothed him bringing him back. A hand so small, so fragile pulled him away stopping him from inflicting further damage.
Jamie blinked and looked up, not sure of where he was or what he had been doing. He felt weak as a kitten. Looking down, he saw his clothes were a mess splattered with blood, fluids, and wine. Someone called his name. Eyes the color of honey and fine whisky peered into his own.
“Sorcha”. He spoke to her in the language of his forefathers, in the Gàidhlig, for he had no English.
“Come with me, Jamie,” the voice said. And he knew he would follow that voice wherever it took him.
Claire began to issue orders to the wait staff like a drill sergeant. Towels, bowls of ice, antiseptic wash, wooden dowels, tape, a plastic bag, and whisky miraculously appeared. Jamie’s scrapes and wounds were cleansed, each digit, each bone palpated, bringing with it a hiss of pain. The adrenaline and endorphins were wearing off. There were definitely broken bones. How badly broken she couldn’t tell for sure. At least there were no bones protruding from the skin. She used the dowels for splints, taping his fingers together, and placed his hand in a plastic bag sealing it closed.
Smiling at him, she eased his hand into the ice bath to help keep the swelling at bay. She poured him a healthy dram of whisky telling him to drink.
“Moran taing.” He smiled back at her.
Unwillingly, she turned her attention to her former husband. A small blond woman was kneeling cradling Frank’s head on her lap stroking his forehead. She was dabbing at the blood seeping from his nose, wiping more blood from the corner of his mouth.
“You’re Claire, Fran, um, Professor Randall’s ex-wife? I’m Sandy Travers, his doctoral student.”
“Yes, I’m sure you are, my dear,” Claire said brusquely.
Pierre, the maî·tre d'hô·tel paced up and down sweat forming on his brow and lip. He began giving instructions of his own to the staff trying to resume order and business as usual. Guests were moved to empty tables away from the scene. Wine and liquor poured freely. Shit, how many dinners will I have to comp tonight?
“Madam, I must call the police to report this ah, disturbance. I shall call for medical assistance for the gentlemen as well.”
“Pierre, I am Dr. Claire Beauchamp room 702. Before you make any calls, let me finish examining the gentlemen and I will let you know what else needs to be done.” She smiled at him sweetly.
He gave her a quizzical look before acquiescing, “As you wish Madam.”
“Alright Frank, let’s have a look, shall we?”
“Keep your fucking Neanderthal boyfriend away from me,” he said glowering at Claire with his right eye. The left eye had swollen shut and blackened.
“He’s not a Neanderthal. He’s of Viking descent. Now hold still,” she said as she began to poke and prod his face and body.
Jamie had done a thorough job of beating Frank to a pulp. His nose was definitely broken. The orbit might be fractured and she was concerned about the tenderness in the left upper quadrant.
“Does your left shoulder hurt?
“What doesn’t hurt? But, actually yes it does a bit.”
“You need to go to the hospital now. I am very concerned about the tenderness in your abdomen.” Thank goodness his belly was soft, not rigid.
“I’m not going anywhere until I see that fucker in handcuffs for assault and battery.”
“Then you want to call the police to report this?”
“You’re damn right I do!”
“In that case, I assume you are prepared to be arrested too? If you have Jamie arrested, I’ll have you arrested for sexual assault. That was really very careless of you, to touch me that way in front of a room full of witnesses. So many of the women gave me their phone numbers offering to testify as to what they saw you do. Oh, and by the way, I kept all the love letters that your doctoral candidates sent you. It will make for very interesting reading in court showing your sexual inclination. Don't you think? Are you ready to be branded as a sex offender?”
“Claire, you wouldn’t.”
“Wouldn’t I just do that, pet,” she said caustically lightly patting him on the cheek. “It would give me great pleasure to ruin you, just like you ruined me and hurt Lamb. So, what’s it going to be, darling?”
Sandy looked from Claire to Frank. Her mouth open, her eyes wide with shock.
“Fr, Fr, Frank what does she mean by this? You told me I was the one you loved and there was no one else.”
“Oh, shut up, Sandy,” he snarled.
“You have a deal, Claire. No police. Just get me to a hospital. I’m not feeling well.”
“One more thing, you will never bother me or Jamie. There will be no contact, no threats of going back on your word ever, do I make myself clear? And you will stop using your students as your personal playthings. If you break any of these promises, I will make sure Dean Innes knows the reason why we divorced. Did you know that Innes was a close personal friend of Lamb’s? No, I don’t believe that you did. He always wondered what caused our breakup. If you break your promise, I will make sure Innes knows what your academic counseling includes. I think he would find reading the love letters quite informative. I am no longer the meek and obedient child you once knew Frank. I will ruin you and enjoy doing it,” she smiled contemptuously.
“Excuse me Dr. Beauchamp, but I think I am going to be sick. I have to go.” Sandy lifted Frank’s head off her lap, laid his head down gently and stood up uneasily.
“I am sorry that you had to hear this my dear, but it is for the best.”
Sandy shakily nodded her head and left.
Claire gently propped up Frank’s head. “I’m going to call Joe Abernathy to make arrangements for your admission. He’ll admit you discreetly.”
Frank rolled his eyes. “Abernathy too, Claire? Is there no end to your crass friendships?”
“You are a true elitist, Frank. Perhaps you would like for everyone to know what happened?”
“Call Abernathy, then. Be quick about it, I don’t feel well.”
And he didn’t look well at all. He began to develop a noticeable pallor. Skin becoming slightly sweaty. She was afraid that he might be going into shock and commanded blankets to wrap him up in.
She quickly scrolled through her contact numbers finding the one she needed.
“Joe Abernathy,” answered the male voice.
“Joe, it’s so good to hear your voice.”
“Lady Jane is that you?” he said with a wide grin on his face. “Where are you?”
“I’m here in Boston. I was supposed to be at a conference, but it was canceled at the last minute because of the blizzard.”
“Conference? I don’t recall...well anyway, good to hear your voice. What can I do for you?”
Claire proceeded to tell Joe about what happened and how she needed his help.
“LJ, you can’t be serious about this. The man molested you. You need to have him prosecuted for this especially after everything he did to you.”
“I can’t risk Jamie’s career. He’s a brilliant surgeon and I won’t have it. Not on my account anyway. Besides Frank had to promise to stop using his doctoral students as sex objects in exchange for my promise to not prosecute him. If I can stop him from hurting anyone else, my silence is well worth it. Joe, please, will you help me?”
“Of course, I will. What about Jamie, you think he has broken fingers?”
“I do, I have splinted them. Now all I have to do is convince him to go to the hospital. They may need to be set.”
“I’ll send an ambulance. See you in a little while.”
“Thanks, Joe.”
“Frank, the ambulance will be here soon.”
He grunted. “Is he coming with us?”
“No, you’re coming with us. Let’s get that straight. There is no you and me, Frank.”
“One more thing before you go, Claire.”
“What is it?” she said in an exasperated tone.
“I’ve been watching you with him all night. What is it that you find so appealing in him?”
“He’s a man, something you know nothing about.”
She turned on her heel and began to walk back toward Jaime.
Now all Claire had to do was to convince one very large and recalcitrant Scot to go to the hospital.
