“Just take them and get away from the central belt for a while. It’s nae too far.”
Those were the words that left Geillis McKenzie’s lips as she pressed an unfamiliar set of keys into the palm of the woman sat across from her. Claire Beauchamp sat, chewing the inside of her cheek while she mulled it over. The offer on the table was simple enough. A week off work and a change of scenery in an attempt to wipe the bastard memory of Frank Randall from her mind. She would leave Glasgow and head to another part of the country, barricading herself inside a seaside cottage with enough food and wine to see in the new year in blessed peace and quiet. Her resolution for the burgeoning 365 days would be drunkenly pronounced to an empty room before fastening her fingers around the neck of the wine bottle, relishing in the sweet oblivion it promised.
It was a tempting prospect and the truth was, she was dreading the idea of spending New Year’s Eve in the flat that now sat practically empty after Frank had removed his belongings.
A few days after she took the keys from Geillis, Claire found herself in the small seaside town of Stonehaven in Aberdeenshire, pulling her scarf tighter around her neck as the bitter wind nipped at any uncovered flesh. She thumbed through the information that Geillis had texted her earlier that day, a surprisingly cohesive set of directions to bring Claire from the platform at the train station to the bright purple door of Geillis’ childhood home that now stood in as a place for her to escape to.
Thankful that she didn’t have to drag her wobbly-wheeled suitcase any further, Claire pushed the door past the collection of food menus and pamphlets announcing the next local councillor surgery that littered the doorstep and found herself to be pleasantly surprised with the room that she found herself in. Geillis was fastidiously minimalist in her home, all sleek black furniture and not a single piece of clutter in sight. The quaint seaside cottage that she’d grown up in was anything but minialist. The wooden floorboards were warped with wear and tear, a sneaky bump that had been hidden under a thread-bare rug almost sending Claire flying onto the couch. There was a huge stone fireplace in the centre of the living room but Claire had no idea how she would go about setting it to keep her warm all through the evening. Poking around a bit, she easily found a small kitchen with a huge navy blue Aga stove and a downstairs loo. Geillis had explained that the main bedroom was up a particularly rickety flight of stairs and Claire found herself sweating from the exertion of having to haul her suitcase up them. She quickly set herself to unpacking the few bits of clothing that she’d brought, opened the bedroom window to to let in some fresh air and arranged all of her toiletries in the small ensuite bathroom before jumping into the shower.
Feeling slightly more rejuvenated after scrubbing the travel grime from her skin, Claire heard her stomach rumble in protest. She hadn’t had anything since the hastily grabbed pastry that took her fancy when she ordered her coffee before getting on the train. She remembered that Geillis had drunkenly proclaimed, more than once, that the fish and chips from the local shop in her home town were the best in Scotland and so, Claire grabbed her purse and set off to find it.
Surprised that the streets were quite as busy given the cold sea wind, Claire allowed herself some time to stroll down to the harbour in search of battered haddock soaked in vinegar. It was a good sign that the small shop was queued out the door when she finally found it. She withstood a small wait before placing her order and moving back outside, waiting for her name to be called. She looked out at the sea, forearms set against the weather-beaten wooden fencing that separated the beach from the road and took in a deep lungful of sea air as the wind whipped her curls across her delicate skin.
Someone with lungs big enough to be heard over the wind called her name and she collected her order with a smile, her mouth watering at the smell. There was nobody there to stop her or, God forbid, ask her to share and so she delicately unwrapped the paper and sourced a single, salty chip.
Another voice drifted over the wind and something about it made her look for the source.
“Ye dinna want tae be daein’ yon, quine, the scurry will be awa’ wi’ yer chips!”
That was when she saw him for the first time. His red curls were moving wildly in the air as he sent her a dazzling grin, showing off a set of straight white teeth. His nose was crooked, obviously broken a good few years ago but it gave him a rakish air that Claire found quite charming. The piece de resistance was a pair of bright blue eyes, squinting at her in humour as he fished his car keys out of his pocket.
Despite having lived in Scotland for a number of years, not to mention being around Geillis whose speech became almost unintelligibly broad as she moved through different states of inebriation, Claire’s brain could barely attempt to untangle the mess of vowel sounds and dropped g’s that had carried over the wind in her direction.
There was only one thought in her mind.
What the hell was a ‘scurry’?
The redhead seemed to be taking no small amount of pleasure from having put her on the back foot. His large frame shook slightly as he chuckled, quite pleased with himself, as he slid himself neatly into his small car despite his gargantuan size. Just as Claire was away to dismiss him as some lout, he rolled down the window, trying to give her what Claire thought might have been intended as a wink as he shouted his parting shot over the rising gusts of wind.
“Hae a rare Hogmanay, quine!”
***
“…and with only an hour or so left until the bells, we hope that you’ll stay tuned to BBC Scotland this Hogmanay as we bring you all the best entertainment!”
Claire sat, idly clicking the buttons on the remote as she moved from one channel to the next, not actually paying attention enough to settle on any one thing. She was wrapped up in the sofa under a thick tartan blanket after her attempt at setting the fire had proved fruitless, as she knew that it would. She felt bad for the kindling that she’d wasted in her attempt to get it going but she figured Geillis wouldn’t mind too much.
With a mind of its own, her hand sought her mobile from its space on the couch beside her. Even though she knew it was a bad idea, she opened the usual apps to see that everyone else seemed to be having a great time at various functions and house parties, all sporting alcohol-induced rosy cheeks and arms slung across shoulders of friends that they had spent the whole year bitching about. She counted her blessings that at least she didn’t have to put on any fake smiles, gritting her teeth through another painfully pleasant evening with Frank and his colleagues.
No, Claire Beauchamp was quite happy to be sat on her own, a belly full of deep fried goodness and a glass of her favourite Chablis in her hand which she delighted in pouring down her throat.
“Next to perform on The Hootenanny, please welcome Idles!”
Thumb pressed firmly on the big red button, the screen on the tv reduced itself to black.
Silence descended over room.
If she hadn’t drained the contents of her wine glass mere seconds before, Claire would have thrown the liquid into the air as a series of loud bangs came from the front door.
Before she could figure out what was going on, the bangs turned into shouting.
“Here, Duncan, open yer fuckin’ door! I’m dyin’ fer a pish!”
Claire pulled the blanket from her legs and got to her feet, feeling irritated at the stranger’s apparent lack of manners. Another few bangs and her worry morphed into anger as she stomped towards the door and arranged her delicate features into the sternest face she could manage.
Unbolting the lock, the wrenched the door open ready to give the stranger an earful.
But there was no face in her eye line to angrily confront. Only a pair of broad shoulders.
The glow from the streetlights creeped its way over the meridians of his almost too large body. Claire’s immediate view was of the man’s chin, slightly dusted with an orange gold smattering of hair, before he ducked down so that he could see underneath the lip of the smaller than average door.
Electric blue eyes, slanted with an air of mischievousness about them. Eyes that had surprised her when they drifted into her thoughts on her return from the chip shop.
“Oh,” he frowned. “It’s you.”
She raised a single eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest, “It’s me.”
“Yer nae Miss Duncan. Fars Geillis?”
He took a step back, allowing her to take in more of him now that he wasn’t cramped into the confines of the small door.
Quickly, she realised that she was staring. And that she hadn’t answered his question.
“In Glasgow. And she’s Mrs Geillis McKenzie now.”
“Och, I ken that fine well enough, ’twas one of my uncles that she married. Although she’ll always be wee Geillis Duncan tae me.”
Claire found herself relaxing a bit to hear that the man wasn’t a completely stranger. Geillis had never mentioned Dougal having any nephews and Claire couldn’t see any family resemblance between Geillis’ husband and the man stood in front of her. Dougal was bald and average height, not anything to write home about. Whereas this man was quite the opposite.
“If you’re aware that she lives in Glasgow, why are you knocking on her door?”
“Saw the light was on,” he frowned as though I had asked the stupidest question possible, shifting from one foot to the other.
There were a few seconds where neither of them offered up any words, waiting for the other to speak first.
When Claire realised that the man was looking at her expectantly, she had to ask.
“Can I help you with something?”
He really tried his best not to blush but failed miserably, “Aye, ye may have heard but ye find me requirin’ the pleasure of utilisin’ yer loo.”
Suddenly the hopping from one foot to the other made more sense. Trying her best not to laugh at his predicament, Claire crossed her arms over her chest and hoped that he would understand the universal symbol of ‘not a chance in hell’.
“Call me crazy but I don’t think I’m going to let an inebriated stranger into the house that I’m staying in, in a village that I don’t know.”
“Am no’ inebriated, I’ve only had a few pints. And as for stranger, any friend of Geillis is a friend of mine.”
Claire rolled her eyes dramatically at the cliche, not convinced in the slightest.
“Well, I’m sure you can find somewhere else.”
The expression on his beautiful face changed from one of mischievous banter to one of grave seriousness.
“Well, I’m guy sorry tae dae this, Sassenach, but I’m afraid I’ll hae tae report ye tae the authorities.”
“Excuse me?”
“’Tis the law in Scotland. If someone knocks on yer door and needs in for a pish, ye have to oblige them.”
“I bloody well do not!” Claire shouted, exasperated. “What absolutely bloody nonsense!”
“‘Bloody nonsense’, she says!” The man countered, grinning wolfishly as he attempted to mimic her English accent.
Her anger was growing by the second, seeing red at his mockery and trying to get up the courage to slam the door in his beautiful face. She would’ve too if she wasn’t glued to the spot, unable to tear herself away from the maddening, handsome, stupid, charming man.
“Yer hospitality is lacking, Sassenach. And on Hogmanay an’ aw.”
Claire’s patience snapped. This man would not make her out to be some uptight English woman. She had heard the term ‘sassenach’ a few times since she moved to Scotland and it had never been said with kindness behind it.
“Fine! You can come in but as soon as you’ve, er… relieved yourself, you must leave.”
“On my honour,” he said solemnly as he raised both hands in supplication.
Claire stepped out of the doorway to let him duck inside and she opened her mouth to explain which door lead to the lavatory when he moved through the small living room with purpose. Of course, she remembered, he knew Geillis. He’d probably been in here more than once.
She watched as his back disappeared behind a now locked door and pondered the idea that that if he knew Geillis, he couldn’t be that bad. If there was one thing that Geillis Duncan nee McKenzie was skilled at, it was taking the measure of someone from a single look. At the very least, the man wouldn’t be dangerous.
And he was rather beautiful. Arrogant but in a way that endeared him to her. Finding that her fingers had a mind of their own as they began to smooth out her curls, Claire looked around the room and embarrassment creeped its way insidiously into her body.
While the world was celebrating the new year, here she was, sat alone in an otherwise empty house with a coffee table covered in discarded fish supper paper, an already empty bottle of Chablis and a box of chocolates that had been dipped into more than a few times. Across the world everyone would be getting on their party outfits while she wore her favourite cosy leggings and big thick socks with her favourite knitted jumper. Anything but glamorous.
With that realisation in mind, the room before her morphed from a scene of quiet solitude to pitiful isolation.
She had been run out of her city by the mere memory of Frank and that enraged her even further.
“Jesus H Roosevelt Christ, you prick,” she muttered exasperatedly, unbridled rage filling her from head to toe.
“Again, I apologise fer disturbin’ ye. But thank ye for lettin’ me inside.”
His voice made her spin on her heel.
“Oh, I didn’t mean—“ she began before deciding it was best to not delve into her dirty laundry with a perfect stranger and sent him a tight, resigned smile.
He made to move towards the door, his head slightly bowed from either humility or inebriation, Claire couldn’t decide on which.
For some reason, she felt disappointed at the thought of him leaving.
“So, any other strange and unusual customs I should know about before you leave? Is a man going to knock on my door in five minutes asking for only my left shoe?”
The man paused and turned around to face her again, his lovely face shining out a look of mischief and excitement.
“Well, I canna say that we’re nae kent for our strange and unusual customs but I think the fireballs are the only other thing ye’ll hae ti’ deal wi’ the night.”
For a moment she thought that she’d had too much to drink. Had the man really just said the words ‘fire’ and ‘balls’ as though they were the most normal things to come out of someone’s mouth?
He noticed her gormless expression.
“Surely ye’d hiv seen the High Street being cordoned off for the night?”
“I haven’t been to the High Street.”
It was his turn to balk.
“Ye came tae Stoney on Hogmanay and shut yersel’ inside? Geillis didnae think tae tell ye?”
“For the love of God, tell me what?”
He smiled a wry smile, “When the clock gets tae midnight, about 40 folk will walk down the High Street swingin’ massive balls of fire around their heids. All the way through the auld toon and then down tae the harbour.”
When Claire didn’t answer, he dug his hands into his pockets, straightening his arms so that he stretched to full height, the top of his head almost hitting the low ceilings.
“It’s an old Viking thing,” he said with a straight face.
Subconsciously, he flexed the muscles of his shoulders and back, taking up even more space. He really was very large.
Viking indeed.
He jerked his left shoulder up slightly and tried to seem nonchalant as he said, “Usually I swing one masel’ but I dislocated ma shooder earlier in the month and it’s only jus’ healed. Shame otherwise I could’ve gied ye a shotty, get ye the best view over the crowd.”
“I’ll pretend I understand a word of what you just said and bid you goodnight,” Claire said firmly as she shifted her weight towards the door, trying her hardest to appear aloof in front of a man that she was fast forming an attraction to.
The Viking surveyed the state of the living room and looked back at her from underneath his eyelashes.
“Havin’ a quiet een, are ye?”
“Yes. I needed a break from the city. I work with Geillis and she was kind enough to let me borrow her place for a few days to get some peace and quiet.”
He gave her a cheeky grin at that, “And then here a stranger comes, crashin’ intae yer front door.”
He put his hand to his chest and smiled kindly at her before bowing his head slightly.
“My maist sincere apologies tae ye…?”
“Claire Beauchamp.”
“Weel, it’s affa fine tae meet ye, Claire,” he said as he pressed a thumb into his chest. “James Fraser.”
“How do you do?” she nodded her head in acknowledgement of his introduction and tried her hardest not to get lost in his eyes.
Looking into his eyes was like looking into the heart of the sun.
Jamie narrowed them at her with a smirk and Claire felt herself blush slightly.
“Yer affa posh tae be a friend of someone as debauched as the one and only Geillis Duncan. Ye said ye work thegither?”
“Yes, we do. I’m a surgeon as well. And I promise, there is nothing posh about me,” Claire scoffed.
He looked at her again, closely, and Claire could practically see the cogs of Jamie’s brain working as a plan came together.
Even though she had failed to light the fire, she could swear that there were flames dancing in his eyes.
“Ye ken, if ye wanted me tae believe ye werenae posh, ye’d dae somethin’ spontaneous.”
Claire was surprised to find that his words sent a shiver down the back of her spine. She couldn’t put her finger exactly on what she was feeling but she knew it felt good.
“What exactly do you mean?”
Jamie took a step towards her, casting another glance at the coffee table of sadness and then settling his eyes on the front door.
“Take a turn aroon the toon wi’ a manny ye’ve jus’ met? Canna be by yerself on Hogmanay, Doctor Beauchamp.”
The offer had been made and Claire knew that she’d be mad to pass it up. She pretended to think it over, lips pursed in fake contemplation as she waited what she felt was an appropriate time to not seem too eager.
“Might as well see these fireballs, I suppose.”
His smile split his face in two and Claire couldn’t help but feel her stomach flip.
“Ace. Weel, we can get going? It’s only an hour until the bells.”
Claire tried to seem casual as she asked for a moment to change into something more appropriate for the outdoors and quickly extricated herself upstairs.
Standing in the middle of the bedroom, she looked at her reflection in the mirror and panicked.
Her mind was completely blank as she tried to flick through the items that she’d brought with her, trying to come up with something that hit the perfect balance of sexy and comfy. Frustration building, she grabbed her phone and shot a text to the woman who was responsible for all of this.
Claire: James Fraser, alright enough guy?
Geillis: Christ, nae wasting any time, are ye?
Claire: Shut up. Anything I should know?
Geillis: He’s an arse man!
Geillis: Nae many better ways to start the new year than a shag with a ginger god!
Claire: Very helpful, thank you. I don’t know why I bother, you are no use at all!
Geillis: Och wheesht, you love me really.
Geillis: For real, Jamie is a sweetheart. We’ve been pals since we were bairns. You’re in good hands.
Geillis: Affa good hands 😏
Claire huffed a laugh at her best friend and quickly pocketed her phone into her jeans, stripping off her leggings and jumper.
As quickly as she could, she dug around in her suitcase for the single pair of jeans that she’d brought with her. Thankfully they were the black ones that hugged her arse perfectly. She grabbed a plain white t-shirt and her favourite burgundy cardigan before she realised that it was too long and would effectively hide the said perfect-arse-in-these-jeans situation.
Resigning herself to an evening of being frozen stiff, she decided against the warm winter jacket that was hiding downstairs and grabbed her trusty leather jacket.
Thankfully her reflection in the mirror showed that the jacket stopped just above the line of her hips, allowing the jeans do their all important job.
“Doctor Beauchamp?”
She moved towards his voice, opening the bedroom door and quickly closing it behind herself so he wouldn’t be able to see the mess that it hid.
“Please call me Claire,” she implored.
“I like calling ye Doctor, ’tis…”
“What?”
“Och, nothin’.”
Claire raised an eyebrow, “Spit it out.”
She could swear that she saw him blushing as he rubbed the back of his neck with an open palm, looking her straight in the eye.
“Sexy.”
The single word was said with such obvious flirtation behind it that she couldn’t stop the rush of heat and need that spread through her body. But the wine had made her bold and she decided to give as good as she got.
Without responding to him, she crossed the room and put her hand gently against the small of his back as she made it to the front door and pulled her boots on.
She heard three heavy footsteps and then he was behind her, so close that she could feel his steady breath.
A large arm circled around her body, grazing her waist ever so slightly as he went to grasp the doorknob.
“Let me get that fer ye, Doctor Beauchamp,” he whispered into the mess of curls that were tickling his nose as Claire resisted the urge to close her eyes and lean back further.
Shaking her head slightly to try and dispel the haze that had come over her, she tried her best to keep her voice from trembling, “Lead the way, Mr Fraser.”
Once they were out in the cold air, Claire could see why Jamie had made fun of her for not noticing the preparations earlier in the day. The entirety of the small village was alive with light and music and bodies. Doors were propped open to allow for a steady stream of people coming in and out of pubs and homes alike, shouts and laughter filling the air with sound. The colourful lights that were still strung up from Christmas glistened against the wet pavements but thankfully the rain had passed and was on its way north towards the city, leaving a cool freshness to the air. Children scurried around with their parents, thick mittens and hats almost falling off at every opportunity and as they turned towards what Jamie had called the Square, Jamie grasped Claire’s hand in his own so they wouldn’t get separated in the crowd that seemed to be every resident of Stonehaven and then some. Claire couldn’t help the huge grin on her face as Jamie expertly navigated the both of them through the community, returning well wishes and clapping a few people on the back in greeting.
She was completely entranced by it all. Even though she was new to Stonehaven, people hugged her in greeting and raised their drinks, offering sentiments that she didn’t quite understand but could nevertheless feel the warmth that they were uttered with.
“Aye Jock! Fit like en?”
“Aye aye, loon, nae bad, nae bad!”
When they made it to a spot that apparently promised the best view of the procession, Jamie made sure that his massive frame wasn’t blocking the view for any children and spotted an old friend.
“Alright Jamie! Foos yer doos?”
Shaking the man’s hand firmly, Jamie gave what Claire assumed was a response to the nonsense question he’d just been asked.
“Aye, a’wis pechin’!”
Claire couldn’t concentrate on the rest of the conversation that was going on between the two men. She was much too preoccupied with the fact that Jamie was stood so close to her, his chest resting against the length of her arm. Even the small amount of pressure being shared between the two bodies was enough to make Claire’s head spin. Not to mention the heat radiating off the man even though it was easily below freezing out in the night arm. A frisson of energy that she could not put a name to coursed through Claire’s limbs and she jerked, accidentally elbowing Jamie in the ribs.
Ending his conversation, he turned to her sharply.
“Fit wis that fer?!” he exclaimed in mock outrage.
She tried her hardest not to laugh at the pout on his face.
“I’m pretty sure you’re just making up these words to make fun of me. Honestly, ‘foos yer doos’?”
Jamie laughed, air bursting from his lungs and turning into soft curls of mist in the dark. Claire felt the vibrations move through her body, tingling in her own extremities.
“’Tis a common greetin’ roon these parts, Sassenach,” he put his hand on the small of her waist and turned her towards him, eyes glimmering. “Take a guess fit it means.”
“I have no idea,” she said primly as she accepted the proffered hip flask from Jamie’s hand.
She realised that she wasn’t the only one aware of the charge between them when she saw his eyes darken at the sight of her bring the flask to her lips. He didn’t know but seeing it made Jamie’s tongue dart out to moisten his lips.
Claire took a small drink of the whisky that flooded her mouth, already feeling a little more than intoxicated after the bottle of wine and the arrival of a certain ginger Scot.
“I’ll gie ye a hint, it’s tae dee wi’ birds.”
Her features scrunched in confusion, “Human or avian?”
“We dinna call women ‘birds’ around here, we call them ‘quines’.”
“That’s not an answer to my question.”
He rolled his eyes at her, unable to keep the smile from his lips, “Another hint is that up here in the northeast, we replace our W’s wi’ F’s.”
She sent him a death stare that hopefully conveyed the message of ‘stop-taking-the-piss-out-of-me-or-I-will-empty-the-contents-of-that-flask-over-your-head’.
Thankfully, he seemed to take pity on her, “Foos yer doos is how we ask folk how they’re deeing. It translates to ‘how are your pigeons’?”
“Pigeons?!” she laughed incredulously. “You ask people about their pigeons?!”
Before he could answer, the clocktower rang its first bell to signal that midnight had been struck. A cheer could be heard from further up the High Street as the first fire ball started to make its journey towards the water.
Claire had never seen anything like it. Men and women dressed in kilts, their feet clad in sturdy shoes as they swung huge balls that had been set ablaze in a beautiful arc around their head. It was the perfect heady mix of awe and fear as they made a great ‘whoosh’ every time the fire almost kissed the ground. The darkness of the night made them shine all the more brightly and Jamie bent down to Claire’s ear so she could hear him over the excitement of the crowd.
“Yer hair is affa bonnie in the firelight, Doc,” his voice sent shivers down her spine. “Mo nighean donn.”
She didn’t know what it meant, didn’t care really. She just knew that she wanted to hear him say it again and again.
Claire seized the opportunity and pushed herself back firmly against his chest, taking his hands in hers and bringing them to wrap around her body in invitation. She hoped that she hadn’t massively misread the situation but her worries were assuaged when he tucked her head neatly under his chin and sighed in relief.
They watched as the spectacle continued but both of them would have been more than happy simply standing there, holding each other.
The bells finally chimed their last, signalling that it was now officially Hogmanay.
Claire refused to move from the safety of his arms but craned her neck up to look at Jamie whose full attention was on her.
“Happy New Year, Jamie,” Claire whispered, her heavy breath mingling with his own.
“Happy Hogmanay, Claire.”
Jamie’s head dipped, closing the space between them and pressing his lips against hers, deciding that his wish for the coming year would be to never part from the woman in his arms.
