When happiness extends its tendrils around a life, the smallest details are filled with joy, and a sense of infallibility accompanies every little action, every breath of air. Food tastes better, the feathers of the mattress suddenly become fluffier, the morning sun carries a newborn day filled with expectation and secret smiles. A feeling of belonging settles in the soul, translating awkwardness into acknowledgment, misplacement into acceptance.
A soul takes longer to heal than a body, and its subtleties are far more difficult to reach for a caring touch or a preoccupied gaze. Claire’s body had been healed, and her soul had been gradually carried along in the process. For weeks, her back had improved until wounds turned to scars and her strength was regained, enough to start helping Jenny with the farm chores, even more as her due day approached and her belly stood in the way of most physical tasks. Her English guest proved herself to be rather useful and obliging, always around her whenever she needed assistance and even before she had the time to ask for it. Her presence was a silent companionship and it gave Jenny the chance to examine her and obtain her own conclusions, instead of guiding herself by her clearly biased brother’s.
Under her watch, Claire drew herself as a thoughtful woman. Whenever they tended to the animals, she always made sure she had everything they were going to need nearby. She didn’t mind getting her hands dirty, but she had them back to perfect cleanness the minute they returned to the house. When one of the goats gave birth, she looked after the kid, made sure the mother was unharmed and didn’t seemed squeamish around the sight of blood and fluids. She even prepared a warm herbal bath to keep the animal safe from diseases, washing her while tenderly caressing her wool. Cooking was clearly not her strong suit, but when meal time was close, she’d always be around the kitchen, trying not to hinder Mrs. Crook’s and Jenny’s work, but providing them with all the cooperation she could. Several recipes were improved by her recommendations regarding the use of herbs, and Ian’s leg hadn’t been less sore since they could remember, thanks to her infusions and poultices.
Jenny felt protective of her younger brother. She had almost lost Jamie more times that she wanted to acknowledge, and having him back home was something she wasn’t ready to give up. Rescuing Claire hadn’t brought consequences yet, but whenever she’d leave the house, she stared at the road for a second, almost waiting for the redcoats to storm in and take him away. For her, it was a matter of time before that Randall captain would come to reclaim Claire, and probably kill Jamie in the meantime. He was a Scot, and without his laird’s permission, it would be hard for the English to arrest him without proof. But Claire wasn’t, and as comfortably as she had fallen into routine in the past weeks, she would always be an outlander. A sassenach, as she had heard her brother called her, at the mercy of the British authorities.
It didn’t took long for Jamie to realize how much he had missed being home. Helping Ian with the farm chores, cutting wood for the fireplaces, bringing water from the well for the baths and the kitchen, tending to the horses and looking into the ledgers hadn’t been his tasks for quite some time, and getting back into the pace of the manor felt like stepping into an old, worn leather boot. Some of the tenants got word of his arrival, and timidly began to visit him, carrying small presents and a welcoming smile. The young laird hadn’t been to Lallybroch for too long, and his presence was appreciated by all his people.
Jamie received them with worry for the first days, but one evening, while they were accommodating the horses for the night, his brother-in-law reassured him when he vocalized his fears.
“Not a single man in the estate wad dare to sell ye, Jamie,” he patted his back before scattering some hay for the horses. “Ye’re safe here. Both of ye,” Ian pointed when his words were met by a sideways look.
“Mmmphm.”
“Oniewey, Jamie… Dinna ye think ’tis time ye settle th—”
“Ach, Claire! Good to see ye…” Jamie interrupted him sharply, his eyes piercing Ian’s for a second before driving them back to her.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” Claire smiled a bit bewildered at the scene. “Jenny sent me for you, Ian. She says the water pump is stuck again and something about you not having really fixed it the last time… And then a lot of, well… curse”, she mouthed.
Ian grimaced and left the hayfork against the wooden wall of the stables before grabbing the handle of the cane attached to his wood leg.
“Please, if I dinna make it, tell my bairn ‘bout me,” he joked before limping out of their sight.
Claire couldn’t help but chuckle. Jamie took the chance to stare at her, soaking in her sight. Her cheeks were pinker, always brushed by some curl that had escaped her bun. Vigor had returned to her body and the weakness that had pestered her during the first days seemed to be long forgotten. Her eyes darted back to him and it was his time to blush, caught in the act of admiring her silently. She hesitated for a second, before walking up to him, her hands inside of her apron looking for something. Jamie’s stance tensed, sensitive to her proximity, fighting the urge to hold her in his arms and kiss her to oblivion. Something he hadn’t done since the night she recognized him again and something he had been craving since the second their lips parted that very night.
In the sweet, cold air fed by the animals, Claire sighed and produce a small piece of bread, offering it to Jamie. He furrowed his brow and looked at her questioningly.
“This… Well, Mrs. Crook has been helping me this afternoon with my cooking. I made my first bannocks, thought you might want to try them,” she explained, unconfident.
Jamie smiled slowly and took the bannock, biting into it wolfishly.
“Good, I’m star—”
“Wait!”
She tried to warn him, but it was already too late. Jamie’s smile faltered when he tried to champ it, only to find his mouth filled by a monstrous mass of bland raw flour, too hard to swallow without chewing it and too rubbery to try to unstick it of his teeth. Her face drop, seeing him struggling to deal with her culinary creation.
“I knew it… I thought I had the proportions wrong, but—”
“Dinna fash, Sassenach, this—“ Jamie smiled again and with all the strength he had and a silent prayer not to choke, he swallowed hardly part of it. “’Tis the best bannock I’ve ever had.“ He swallowed the rest of it. “Truly.”
Jamie nodded reassuringly and looked around. There was a small bucket with water, placed there to calm the thirst after working at the stables. He hollowed his hands and grabbed some water to drink, passing the last traces of dough and sighing when his mouth felt clean again.
“Long day, ye ken.“
They stared at each other for a moment before laughter erupted from both of them.
“Oh my… Jamie, I’m so sorry,” she apologized with tears of joy in her eyes, unable to stop guffawing.
“’Tis fine, Sassenach, I’ll juist stay away from bannocks during dinner…”
The distance between them had been gradually disappearing until they were facing each other. Hearty laughs faded, and they stared again into each other’s eyes. Amber brown meeting pale turquoise, losing in the depths that peered into them. His hand dabbled into her hair, placing a lost lock behind her ear and caressing the side of her cheek in the meantime. She sighed at the touch, and her eyes dropped to his lips for a brief moment, before turning them back. This almost imperceptible invitation didn’t pass unnoticed to Jamie, whose other hand tentative looked for Claire’s. When they fingers met with the last light of the dying day, they intertwined in silence, as if they were so used to it that there was no other possible movement. Taking one step closer, their bodies almost met completely, she tilting her head upwards to be able to hold his gaze. His fingers traveled to her nape, fingertips caressing the gap between the muscles, causing her spine to shiver in pleasure.
Their breaths mixed in the closeness, a space slowly erased when Jamie’s forehead rested against hers, his nose caressing hers tenderly. He closed his eyes, fearful of what they could show. The depth of the desire he felt for Claire, the need she woke in his body, the utter craving he felt whenever she was close to him, it all lived and throbbed in his sight. Depriving himself of it only increased his other senses. The smell of her skin, a mix of primrose and the scents of the kitchen. The touch of her palm, soft, welcoming, warm. Knowing her lips were only an inch away from his made his heart flutter in his chest, but still, a fight between what he wanted and what he was afraid she would feel took place in his mind. What if his touch reminded her of Randall's? What if she felt dishonored? What if…
That trail of thought got lost the moment her other hand reached up to his curls, warily at first, then more certain. Her fingers weaved and caressed his hair, mirroring what he had just done a minute earlier. A sigh of content abandoned his lips at the contact, and he made his decision. The slight separation between their mouths began to close, her hand tightening her grip on his curls, his setting calmly on the back of her neck.
“'Tis dinner time!!”
Jenny’s thundering voice broke the spell and startled them. Their eyes snapped open and Claire took one step backwards, breaking the connection between their hands and longingly staring at him before turning away and hurry out of the stables.
Ifrinn an Diabhuil…
When Jamie entered the house, Jenny’s voice welcomed him from the kitchen, her tone lecturing as usual.
“Ye better no’ get that horse aidle on my carpets if ye dinna want to clean it yersel, brither.”
He looked at his boots and recoiled to the entrance, scrubbing their soles against doormat, before resuming his way. The house smelled of stew and herbs, and he followed the aromatic trail to the kitchen where Mrs. Crook and his sister were busy finishing the meal. Jamie surveyed the place and grabbed a piece of cheese from the pantry, stuffing his mouth with it before making room for some bread to accompany it. Jenny looked at him sideways without stopping her tasks and arched an eyebrow.
“Ye look as hungry as ye used to be when ye were thirteen. I remember ye comin’ into the kitchen and eatin’ oniething edible.” Jamie smiled with his mouth full and shrugged.
“I’m still a lad, ye ken… I’ve to grow.”
“What ye’ve to grow is the guts to propose to the lass,” she said nonchalantly while his brother’s face lost all color. “She canna stay wi’ us for the rest o’ her life unwedded—”
Her voice got quieted by Jamie choking on the bread, shooting daggers at his sister while his face turned from pale to red. Mrs. Crook handed him some water while keeping at her business and Jamie chugged it at once, trying to regain his breath while Jenny laughed under hers.
“If I’ve to see ye lookin’ at her wi’ those puppy eyes agin I’ll deliver yer niece on the spot.“
Jamie left the kitchen still trying not to choke and leaned against the banister. From there, his eyes wandered into the dining room, where Claire was alone getting the table ready. Watching her unaware of his gaze brought memories from that first morning she had adventured into the woods, looking for some herbs to help him heal his wounded leg. The fluency of her movements, the care she used to settle every dish, every glass, the attention to detail she exhibited that paid out in the beautifully arranged table. Of course he could see himself married to that woman. He’d be lying to his very soul if he denied it. But he was aware of what a poor choice of a husband he was. Who would marry a man with the executioner’s noose hanging over his head? He had been accustomed to the idea over time, but he resisted the thought of bringing a loved one into a such a life. His days in Lallybroch were counted, and then what? Sleeping out in the open? Living of what the land could provide? Jamie clenched his jaw. No, as much as he wanted her, he wouldn’t condemn her into an exiled life.
His brother-in-law passed by him on his way to the dining room and stopped when he saw his grim expression. Following the direction of his gaze before Jamie looked at him, Ian discovered his trail of thought without much effort.
“Jenny talked to ye, aye?” He whispered confidentially and leaned against the banister himself. Jamie nodded curtly and lowered his eyes. “She’s a Fraser, that’s for sure. I tald her to leave ye be, but ye ken her.”
Jamie snorted and both of them went silent when Claire left the dining room on her way to the kitchen, looking at them puzzled for a second.
“Aye, I ken her.“
Ian sighed and patted his own thigh, massaging the tired muscle.
“Ye Frasers are stubborn like mules, but that disna make ye less right. I dinna ken what’s stoppin’ ye from talkin’ to the lass. But she’s still here.”
“That disna—”
“She’s. Still. Here,” Ian pointed staring directly into Jamie’s eyes, not letting him finish the sentence. He grabbed his shoulders and shook them gently, trying to instill some reasoning into him. “Clearly there’s something makin’ her stay.”
But when Jamie’s blue sight focused back on him, the expression of his face talked more than the words he couldn’t say. Ian’s hands dropped slowly back into his lap.
“Ye think ye winna be a braw guidman for her, is it?” His eyes watered suddenly and the tension of his jaw became more visible. “Ach, brither… Ye’re daft if ye dinna see how different she thinks.” Ian smiled, patted his shoulder and walked wearily into the dinning room, followed by Jenny and Claire carrying the trays and tureens.
Jamie stood there, shocked by Ian’s words. Was he really that blind? Of course he knew Claire was partial to him. That much he had fathomed. But one thing was stealing a kiss in the middle of the night and a very different one wanting to get married to that person. He stood from the banister as Claire was placing the tray on the table, and she looked over her shoulder straight into him, smiling so radiantly he felt his heart skipping a beat.
Ye bawheid... She must think ye’re slow.
With a new resolution in mind, he squared his shoulders and strode in the room, sitting at the head of the table. They served the food, the smells impregnating the air and making their stomachs groan after a long day working. In peaceful silence, the four of them started to eat. Unaware of the kick fight that was taking place under the table between the two siblings, Claire nipped her soup wondering about the dull thuds that sprinkled the otherwise quiet evening. Jenny and Jamie looked askance at each other, and suddenly, Jenny dropped the spoon on her plate.
“Tell me Claire, noo that yer enga—”
“Claire, would ye mind if we spoke later?” Jamie cut his sister on her tracks. “In private?”
She looked at both of them, bewildered by the sudden exchange and the strange looks they were exchanging. Actually, Jamie’s words seemed to be more directed to his sister than to her, and if he hadn’t specified her name out loud, she would’ve thought he was talking to Jenny. Who, by then, looked like the cat that ate the cream.
“Of course, Jamie. Is it your leg? Is it bothering you?“ Claire asked with worry clouding her brow.
“No, dinna fash, Sassenach. I’m juist fine.”
When they finished dinner, in the tensest atmosphere Claire remembered since she had arrived to Lallybroch, Jenny took care of clearing the table and excused Claire with a nod and a knowing smile.
Jamie was already waiting for her outside. When Claire stepped beside him, he took his wool cape and wrapped it around her carefully. It had the Fraser colors, and that particular Fraser’s smell. She thanked silently for the warmth it provided, when Jamie unexpectedly grabbed her hand and intertwined his fingers with hers before starting to walk.
The moon was almost full, and even though the night was complete, its silver light was enough for them to see where the surroundings. The walls of Lallybroch were covered in an ethereal glow, and the green pastures that spread as far as the sight reached had turned to an argent hue. The only noise that reverberated in the silence was the clump of their feet against the grass and the tuneful crickets that sang like a choir of tiny percussionists.
After a few minutes walking, they seemed to reach their destination. An ancient, wide oak that spread its branches over the stream nearby the estate crowned over them. Sighing deeply, like the warrior who faces his hardest battle, the one before the sweetest victory, he turned to face Claire, grabbing her other hand in the process. She was used to his tenderness, to him cherishing her in the most minuscule things. But his hold then was firm, steady, resolute.
“When we were juist bairns, my older brother Willie died. He was supposed to become laird of Lallybroch when he came o’ age. Instead, he died of smallpox and my parents grieved, deeply. I always looked up to him. Sawney, he used to call me,” his mouth crooked a smile. “One day we were here fishing. I wisna older than six and he was eleven, but I remember his words as if he had juist said them. Listen to yer heart, he said. It’s smarter than that thick heid ye’ve.”
Claire controlled the urge to laugh at the second part of the sentence, but a whimsical smile crept up to her lips.
“I think I’ve listened to my heid longer than I should've. Because my heart knows the truth. And it’s screaming it out loud.” His grip tightened, his thumbs caressing the back of her hands. “I love ye, Claire. And I’d be honored to call you my wife, every day, for the rest of my life.”
