O U T L A N D E R

— Diana Gabaldon

OUTLANDER | season 1

Claire Fraser + hair down

"I'm looking for that plant. I think it's a forget-me-not but I'm not sure."

Outlander (2014-)

Don’t be afraid. There’s the two of us now.

Season 1 Episode 7 "The Wedding" Caitríona Balfe as Claire in Outlander (2014– )

Season 2 Episode 2 "Not in Scotland Anymore" Caitríona Balfe as Claire in Outlander (2014– )

The Berserker - Part 22

- Masterlist.

Part 22. 

 “I have rarely ever seen him quite this excited,” Claire said amused, as she, Jamie and Elin watch Murtagh trudge off into the night with a positively bouncing Lamb, arms laden with bun cakes.

“Aye, I doubt we will be seeing either of them back tonight,” Jamie said, with a laugh.

“I would not be taken aback to find Murtagh in the stables by the time I get there to sain,” said Elin, watching the figures of the two men get swallowed by the darkness. “Right,” she said, turning to the other two, “I will go get started on the livestock, can I trust ye two to finish the homestead before getting… distracted?”

“Ma!” Jamie exclaimed, mortified. 

A loud shout of “Skol!” rang out from the darkness, signaling Murtagh and Lamb had arrived at the first dwelling.

“Ye seem to ken only the one way to stay warm during the night, mo ruaidh, and the night is very cold,” Elin said jokingly. Claire turned away quickly, bright red, stifling a laugh, as Jamie muttered something indignantly under his breath.

Unperturbed, Elin turned on her heel and headed for the back door. “And do not forget the cellar!” she called over her shoulder, before the door snapped shut behind her.

A roar of “Slainte!” rang out, further away this time. 

Once suddenly plunged into silence, Claire and Jamie turned back to each other then, flushed with embarrassment, Jamie giving Claire a sheepish smile.

“So,” Claire said, hands on her hips, “what exactly does a saining require? Do we need to say anything while we…?” she gestured at the bucket of icy water and juniper branches.

“Nay really,” Jamie replied. He split the bunch of juniper branches in two, handing Claire one bunch and dipping the other into the water, and said, “ye smoke those and I will sprinkle this about, aye?”

Nodding, Claire got the branch smoking and her and Jamie went about the homestead, diligently splashing and smoking. The pounding of drums began, like a heartbeat in the darkness, with the rhythmic clatter of rattles and stomping feet, punctuated with yells of welcome, awakened the night.

“That stramash is going to last all night,” Jamie said, with a laugh. “No one will be getting any sleep tonight.”

“Planning on sleeping, were you?” Claire asked cheekily, not looking at him. Jamie splashed a little cold water in her direction, making her take a hasty step away from the shower, laughing. “I quite enjoy it. It burrows right into your bones, does it not?” she added, beginning to move with the pulsating music, the shouts still punctuating the night air, as she continued to wave the juniper branch to the rhythm.

There was nothing particularly sensual about the way she moved or the music she moved to. But Jamie watched, enraptured, as she quite unconsciously began stomping her feet as she walked, her chest gradually heaving as if an inner drum had begun to boom. A playful air surrounded her then, as she waved the smoke around her as she whirled round. Primal and free. It inexplicably drew him in. All that was missing, Jamie thought, was a full moon and a bonfire. He could take her right then and there, rough and hard, and the music would play to their movements. One flow, one rhythm, one movement forward. As if composed for them and them alone. 

He walked up behind her, wrapping his arm around her waist.

“Gods, Sassenach,” he said into her neck, voice raw, “we are supposed to be banishing the spirits, not summoning them.”

She leaned back into him, still moving. “All the spirits, then? Or just the evil ones?” she asked. His laugh reverberated down her spine and all along her skin.

“You are temptation itself, lass,” he said, nipping at her neck.

“Your ma was right, you really are easily distracted,” Claire teased.

“Aye well,” he said, spinning her around and kissing her long and deeply, “I have always been completely under yer power and happy to be there. Now let us get this saining finished quickly, so we can herald in the new year properly, aye?”

The thrum of vigorous primeval music was a constant ripple through the night, the pulse and pound a promise that heralded more than just the new year, but ancient strength as well. A strength they would soon all need to summon.

Two months later.

 Cold and snowy as it still was, the bitingly bitter winter chill they had endured for months had finally begun to break.

Claire has started training in full armor at Elin’s insistence that she get used to the weight and feel of the leather tunic, braces and greaves. Having begun to show in earnest, Claire’s tunic had been specially modified for her, with metal plating sewn in between the fabric, though with a flexibility to take to her ever changing shape.

Despite her advancing pregnancy, Claire had felt herself get stronger with each passing day. Her morning sickness had finally abated, giving her the chance to build up her power and speed, much to Jamie’s pleasure. 

He stood by his mother, watching Claire spar with one of the other shieldmaidens. “Thank ye, ma, for all ye have done to help prepare Claire,” he said over the din and clash of swords against shields.

“Yes well…” Elin said, contemplatively, “she has indeed come a long way, yer lass, but, I fear…” her voice trailed off.

“Fear what?” Jamie prompted.

“Claire is a healer at heart, lad. That is her first instinct. It isna taught, it comes to her naturally. No amount of training can teach that out of her,”

“What are ye saying?” he asked, turning to his mother.

“As good as the lass gets at her fighting, I fear when the time comes where she is forced to choose between taking life and healing it… whether that conflict within her will cause her to hesitate at the wrong moment,” she replied, thoughtfully.

Jamie looked back to where Claire was, now extending her hand, laughing cheerfully with her sparring mate who had lost her footing in the muggy ground and fallen over. It was true, he thought, Claire was a healer above all things, it was one of things he loved about her most. She had taken life when necessity dictated it, when there had been no other choice, but it had never been her inclination to do so willingly, for it to be her first choice. When the time came, he thought - he hoped - she’d do so again.

The initial restlessness the inhabitants of Lallybroch had felt over a possible impending attack had dissipated near entirely as they went about their daily lives. The sounds of clashing swords were replaced by playing children. The dwellings grew more sturdy, more permanent. Ned, the blacksmith, had split his time between making weapons and making ale. Claire had repurposed an old shed, just beside the main house where she kept all her herbs and could examine those in need of her healing. Life seamlessly moving around the fortifications.

The false sense of security however, was not to last, however.

As Claire and Jamie walked hand in hand - Claire pausing now and then to collect what flora she could that had finally pushed its way through the frosty ground - on one of the unusually sunny mornings, they strolled by, as they were accustomed to doing, what looked like an archaic ruin, stones now crumbled with time, only part of a curved wall remaining upright.

“My Da had always dreamt of rebuilding it,” Jamie said, wistfully, trailing his hand along the wall as they went by.

“What was it?” Claire asked, having never really given the ruin much thought, though she had seen Elin with uncle Lamb on a number of occasions deep in conversions up here.

“‘Tis believed to be an ancient tower, like many that are scattered throughout the Highlands,” Jamie began, “the stories say it was found like this when the first people settled here and built the village of Mordha, naming it for the broch. Broch means tower - and so, Broch Mordha. Then, later, Lallybroch.”

“First people?” Claire said, with a laugh. “Surely they weren’t the first if this was already here.”

“Aye well, as the stories go, it wasna built by people,” he said, “but by the auld fairy folk that once dwelled here.”

Claire gave him a skeptical look, he just shrugged back.

“What was their purpose?” she asked, giving the crumbled ruin one last look over her shoulder.

“No one truly kens,” he replied. “Some say they were strongholds, for warfare. Others say they stored grains and such. Many believe them to be dwellings - though I know of no one who would live in them, given all the folktales that surround them.”

“Perhaps one day we will fulfil your father’s dream and rebuild it. Give it a purpose,” Claire said, giving Jamie’s arm a squeeze. He smiled down at her in return.

As they made their way down the hill, towards where Elin and Murtagh stood, they heard the distant thundering of hooves coming from the narrow pass, in the direction in which Broch Mordha lay. As they got level with Elin and Murtagh, the horse and rider came into view. Jamie hooded his eyes with his hand against the sun, to get a better view of who it was, and whispered, “Ifrinn.”

Willie, the boy Elin had sent to keep watch and hear of any news from the neighbouring villages in Broch Mordha months earlier, saw where they stood and pointed his horse towards them, riding as if demons snapped at his heels. He came to a shrieking halt, the horse’s hooves sending debris flying, its rear near touched the ground as it slid to a stop.

“He approaches!” Willie yelled breathlessly, without preamble.

Jamie took a step forward, grabbing the agitated horse’s reins to steady him. “How long?” he asked.

“Four, mayhaps five days’ ride away,” Willie replied promptly.

Claire’s heart sank. Reflexively, her head snapped back to the pass Willie had just rode through, as if she would see Dufgall and his horde crest over the horizon.

“How many, lad?” Murtagh asked.

“I dinna ken,” Willie replied.

“It doesna matter,” Jamie said, turning to the others. “It is time.”

The Berserker - Part 21

- Masterlist

Part 21.

 “Again.”

Claire could barely lift her arms, but with wooden sword in one hand and shield in the other, she straightened up once more and took her position.

Elin, armed the same, came at her with a fluidity that defied her age. She carried her weapons as if they weighed nothing and struck with a graceful yet deceptive turn of strength that Claire still couldn’t quite believe. Claire could definitely see where Jamie got his ferocious agility from.

Elin brought her sword down on Claire from above - Claire just barely getting her shield up in time to parry - then spun round, bringing the edge of her shield just inches shy of Claire’s exposed midriff.

“Yer shield is as much a weapon as yer sword and yer sword as much a shield,” Elin said for what felt like the millionth time. “It is more than just an extension of yer hands, they must both feel as light as each other. Here,” Elin said, moving to stand beside Claire and showing her a particular spinning maneuver Claire couldn’t quite seem to master. “The moment ye have yer shield raised to parry the blow, ye leave yer belly unprotected. Ye canna afford to ever leave it unprotected. Ye must anticipate yer next move before yer shield has even left yer side.”

Elin, in one agile movement, raised her shield above her head and brought the flat of her sword -  blade pointing down - to safeguard her abdomen, then spun away to her left with one step which - if done properly - effectively put her behind her now vulnerable and stumbling opponent.

“‘Tis all in the feet, Claire, and using yer opponent’s strength and momentum against them, as much as using yer own,” she finished, with her hands resting on her hips.

Taking a deep breath and rotating her shoulders to loosen the settling tightness, Claire went through the motions once more. She seemed to finally be grasping the blocks, but it was the spin away that always left her off balance. Off balance enough that any split second advantage she would have gained to go on the offensive was lost.

“Uuuugh!” Claire groaned in frustration after a few more attempts. Of all the lessons she’d had with Elin so far, this had by far been the most disheartening. 

They had been at it everyday for two weeks now. In amongst all the preparations taking place around them, Elin had pulled Claire aside for a few hours to work on different techniques Claire never knew were even possible. She never thought she’d ever find herself being able to move like that. She knew she was nowhere near Elin’s (or any of the other shieldmaidens there) level, but there was so much she still wanted to learn. Seeing them all spar in what free time they got was a sight to behold.

Just then, Jamie came around the corner, tunelessly humming to himself, eating a dried piece of venison. Whenever he got the chance, he loved to come and watch the two of them spar. He sat on an upturned barrel and quietly munched on his snack as Elin repeated the move.

“Once yer body gets used to the motion,” Elin was saying patiently, “it will become second nature. A movement that will open more doors to others.”

Claire wondered if perhaps such moves came easier to those that weren’t pregnant. She felt ungainly as it was, so executing something with precision seemed rather counterproductive. Elin read her look all too quickly.

“We learn these actions precisely because we carry far more prized treasures than men do,” she said patiently. 

Claire tried again, without much success.

“Dinna tighten yer hips so much, Sassenach,” Jamie chimed in from his perch.

“Oh yeah,” she replied testily, “why don’t you show me how it is done then, since you know so much.”

He hopped off the barrel good naturedly, took her sword and shield and taking up a position in front of Elin - who came at him without warning at a ferocious speed - proceeded to pull off the move swiftly and with very little effort. He turned to Claire and bowed.

“Damn…” she said.

“Dinna feel defeated, lass,” Elin said, consolingly, “he’s been training since he was a wee lad. Here,” she added, giving Claire her weapons, “spar with him for a bit. ‘Tis always better to train with a bigger opponent.”

Jamie was always hesitant to spar with Claire while she was pregnant, and had adamantly refused the first time Elin had told him to. But after much convincing and coaxing from Claire, he finally reluctantly agreed.

He took up his place in front of Claire, rotated his shoulder a few times, then at Elin’s word, proceeded to bring his sword down on Claire in the slowest, gentlest possible way. So slow in fact, Claire had time to straighten up from her crouched position and put her hands on her hips, exasperated.

“Every time,” she said, swatting his sword away irritably when it finally reached her, unable to keep her smile at bay as Jamie - who Claire had come to find was unable to wink properly - blinked at her like a solemn owl. She winked back.

“Properly, lad, she needs to learn,” Elin said, stifling her own amusement.

So with a resigned sigh, Jamie swung - with speed but considerably less power than he truly possessed - and they began to spar in earnest. They went to and fro with barely a pause, working different techniques as Elin shouted out instructions and advice from time to time. Jamie was pleased to see Claire’s style begin to evolve for the better since she began training with his mother. Her response time as well had improved greatly. 

“Now!” Elin suddenly yelled in the middle of one of Jamie’s feints.

He suddenly spun and brought down his sword. Claire, having no time to breath let alone to think, let her body move of its own accord. She parried with her shield, blocked his own with the flat of her sword and with a rather inelegant but effective pirouette, she spun around him and satisfyingly tapped his behind with her sword.

“Finally!” she exclaimed, raising her hands in triumph, then immediately lowered them as if they were made of stone. Jamie rubbed his behind in mock consternation.

“Well done, a leannan,” Elin said, applauding. “Always best not to overthink it. Ye kent what to do fine, ye just got caught up in the technique of it all. Best to just let yer body guide ye through. Again.”

“Ma,” Jamie said, giving her beseeching look, “she can barely lift her arms, perhaps a break for today?”

Claire kept silent, not wanting to seem weak or exhausted, but was secretly relieved and thankful he’d spoken up.

“Aye,” Elin said, looking at Claire’s now limp arms, “aye, yer right. That’s enough for today. I hope ye arena overly tired, lass?”

“No,” Claire lied immediately. “But I think I need to check on the stores for my herbs.”

Elin smiled and nodded. “I’ll leave ye two to it, then. Where’s yer godfather, Jamie? I have some things to discuss with him.”

“I left him in the stables,” he replied.

With that, Elin bid them goodbye and headed to the stables. As soon as she was out of sight, Claire dropped her weapons and doubled over.

“Lord, but I am exhausted!” she said, near breathless.

Jamie laughed and walked around her and began kneading her shoulders.

“Ye did braw, mo cridh,” he said, kissing her neck. “D’ye need me to carry ye inside, or do ye think you can manage?” he teased.

She playful slapped his thigh. “No, I can manage,” she said, turning in his arms and wrapping her own around his waist.

They walked back to the main house in good spirits, Jamie keeping tight hold of Claire’s sagging body.

Lallybroch had begun to look like a veritable fortress. Jamie had made sure to oversee every aspect of their preparations, his directions adding far more to what had already been done. A fence made of tall, spiked wooden beams - with ramparts erected along the inner wall for the archers - encircled the entire boundary of the freehold. In addition to the main palisade, formidable spiked beams and tenails jutted out of the wall at irregular intervals, making scaling it near impossible, and a deep trench was dug into the ground all round the foot of the outside wall. The outer grounds themselves had been roughly furrowed making it thoroughly uneven, on top of the crude chevaux de frise that had been scattered throughout the landscape per Jamie’s command.

He had been determined to make sure storming Lallybroch would be next to impossible. Claire stood beside him on one of the ramparts watching the men and women train on the uneven ground.

“This willna be the main battle ground,” Jamie said quietly, as the winter wind whipped around them. Claire knew he had chosen the narrow mountain pass Dufgall would have to use to get to Lallybroch, where to meet his uncle. “Should he pass us, he willna have an easy time getting to Lallybroch.”

“Why leave the safety of the walls, at all?” Claire asked looking over at him, his face creased in deep thought as if etched in stone. “Why not just meet him here?”

He looked at her then. “I willna have him anywhere near ye, mo nighean donn,” he said, voice softening.

“Claire is right, my lad,” Elin’s voice came from behind them. She walked towards them, Murtagh by her side. “Our fortification here can repel any attack.”

“And all it would take is one fire arrow to bring it all down,” Jamie retorted.

“Aye, that is true,” Murtagh said, “but he willna be expecting to be lured into that,” he said, gesturing to the pock-marked ground before them. “We have the advantage of the higher ground here.”

Jamie nodded vaguely. “‘Tis a thought…” he said.

“I sent Willie, our fastest lad, to keep a lookout beyond Broch Mordha. Should Dufgall’s force be seen, we’ll ken it soon enough,” Murtagh said.

“Aye,” Elin said, sighing, “we have done all we can to prepare ourselves, but now we must see to more pressing matters. Getting through the winter as strongly as possible. It willna help matters much if we neglect our life here. Those new to this land need to be reminded what it is they fight for. What they may die for to defend.”

Claire shivered at the impending prospect and wrapped her thick woolen cloak around more tightly. But Elin was right. No matter what may happen, they had to live first.

Life at Lallybroch slowly returned to normal. As it got colder, it was easy to see people retreat into their own confined family bubbles, but Jamie had taken it upon himself to make sure the inhabitants didn’t. Every night, in the makeshift long house they’d initially built when first they’d returned, they held a communal gathering. They ate and drank and got to know each other properly. The last remaining barriers between the Norsemen and the Scots finally falling away. An amalgam of languages (and cultures) coming together to create a unique pidgin - much to Lamb’s delight.

Claire’s morning sickness however, had yet not improved since leaving Jenny and Ian’s.

“Bread,” she murmured, near every morning. “Bread,” she said, more urgently.

She heard Jamie clamber out of their bed, bare feet thumping onto the wooden floor and scrambling as he cursed in Gaidhlig, looking for the loaf he’d brought with him the night before.

“Here,” he said nervously and she could smell the piece he’d brought to her lips. 

She cracked an eye open, looking from him to the bread, then heaved herself onto her elbow, gingerly taking a small bite. She tentatively chewed.

“Better?” he asked, kneeling beside her. She nodded as the bread helped her roiling stomach a bit.

“You’re naked,” she observed, looking him up and down and giving his bare chest a poke.

“Aye and whose fault is that?” he said amused. Their night had been a breathless and feverish taking. Neither patient enough for tenderness, too hungry for one another to take stock of where or even how they’d flung off each other’s clothes. 

“It is freezing, Jamie, you should put something on,” she said, lying back down and shutting her eyes, willing her stomach to settle.

He laughed and got back under the covers beside her and pulled her to him. “Aye, I would, but yer wearing my shirt,” he said nuzzling into her neck. “Are ye alright?” he asked quietly.

“I’ll be fine in a moment,” she replied, slipping her hand beneath the covers and giving his leg a reassuring squeeze. “What have you planned for today?” she asked, stifling a yawn.

“Och,” he said, rubbing her arm, “nay much really, just helping with the remaining preparations for Hogmanay.”

With the new year fast approaching and having lived among them for so long, Jamie had been well versed in Norseman winter solstice customs, but looked forward to sharing the customs of his own land he hadn’t openly celebrated since he was a young boy.

The twelve day Jol winter feast celebrations were already well under way. What trees that hadn’t been taken by the frost had been decorated with carvings and food, a couple having been cut down and brought into the shared longhouse, while the Jol log had already been burning for a dozen days. Panpipes, tagelharpas and lyres permeated through the still nights spent in the longhouse, punctuated by the hypnotic thrum of drums and the stomping of feet. Haunting voices carried through the pulsating and primal celebrations. Sometimes lasting until first light.

Uncle Lamb had told Claire stories of the winter solstice customs held here in the North during their long travels, but they had never had the chance to experience them. And seeing Jamie’s quiet excitement at the prospect of getting to have a proper Hogmanay at home was infectious. He had placed a lump of coal by their bedroom hearth, while Elin had been busy baking black bun cakes for days - though given the frigid winter they were having, the cakes weren’t as rich in fruit as they usually would have been.

Eager to participate, Lamb had shadowed Elin for most days, asking questions and trying his hand at baking - to disastrous results. Finally tired of his endless fervor, Elin had suggested he and Murtagh, being of black hair, be in charge of the first-footing duties, while Elin and Jamie would handle the saining.

“Saining?” Claire asked, twining her fingers with his and nestling deeper into his warm embrace.

“A blessing. Of the house and livestock and such,” he replied, tucking a stray curl behind her ear with his free hand. “‘Tis seen as bad luck for red headed folk to participate in the first footing, see, so we tend to keep out of sight during, busying ourselves with other things.”

“Bad luck, is it? I would say I have had rather the most agreeable luck with red heads,” Claire said coyly.

“Agreeable, huh?” Jamie said, his hand slowly, lightly working its way beneath her shirt and up her bare leg.

“Most agreeable,” she replied, turning slightly towards him, giving his touch more access. She took a sharp intake of breath as his nimble, yet slightly cold fingers reached their destination. “And so what will I be doing, during all of this?” she asked between breathless gasps.

“Ye could put yer feet up by the fire? Have a dram?” At the sour look on her face - she had lost all taste for whisky the further into her pregnancy she had gotten - he quickly said, “or mayhaps ye could help me with the saining?”

“And what exactly does a saining entail?”

“Och,” he said, settling into his self-appointed task. “I just need to go up to the wee river ford just north of here and get a few pails of water. Then find what juniper branches I can and bring those back as well.”

“Why?”

“Well, the juniper branches we burn throughout the homestead to stave off evil spirits. The water we drink a little of, before sprinkling that too throughout the homestead and livestock. The water’s said to be magic, crossed by both the living and the dead.”

At this, Claire’s half closed eyes snapped open abruptly. “What?”

“‘Tis nay but old custom and tradition, Sassenach,” he replied with a bit of a laugh. “Come with me today. Ye can sit in the wagon while I go about my work?”

The prospect of spending the day with Jamie, albeit in the frigid cold, sounded far more pleasant than training in the frigid cold with Elin. She nodded eagerly but almost immediately dropped her head back onto the pillow, letting out a long, drawn out moan as Jamie’s fingers utterly undid her altogether.

The Berserker - Part 19.

- Masterlist.

Part 19.

 "Claire!“ Jamie exclaimed, sitting bolt upright and causing wee Jamie to roll off him with a whoop and a giggle, like a chubby, lumbering log. “Are ye alright, mo nighean donn?” he asked anxiously, as he got to her side and knelt down.

“She is fine!” Jenny answered, standing up now that Jamie had begun fussing by his wife’s side.

“It is normal,” Claire added, between heaves. “I was just hoping it would not be this… intense,” she managed to say before retching again.

“What is normal? What is happening to ye?” Jamie said, confused by their calmness amidst Claire’s distress.

“‘Tis nothing but a mother’s sickness,” Jenny said, as she began brewing something in her little kitchen. “It happens to most of us when with child,” seeing the fear in Jamie’s face at this, she quickly added, “it’s nay worry, brother. It only lasts a short while in the beginning.”

“Ughhh,” Claire put in, as she finally sat back and rested her head on Jamie’s shoulder. 

"Will it hurt Claire or the baby?” he asked, wiping the sweat from her brow.

“Not normally, no,” Claire said, turning round and tried to give Jamie a reassuring smile. “I may lose a little weight and have a few miserable mornings, but it should pass soon enough.”

“Here,” Jenny said, handing Claire a chunk of bread and a steaming cup of tea. “This should help yer stomach settle a bit.”

Claire took the proffered bread and tea but ventured only to gingerly nibble at the bread, not trusting herself to keep much down just yet. After a few bites, wee Jamie padded over to her and without warning, placed his hands on each of Claire’s cheeks and gazed intently into her face. She caught her husband’s eye with the corner of hers as he stifled a laugh and immediately looked back at her earnest nephew. Whatever he saw satisfied him enough that his auntie was indeed ok and he promptly went off in search of his father. 

“Oy!” Jenny called after him, suppressing a laugh of her own at his bare backside, “put on yer breeks and shoes before ye go out there or ye’ll freeze yer bollocks off, wee man!”

Jamie helped Claire to her feet as Jenny cleared away the chamber pot and sat down heavily on a kitchen stool, rubbing her massive belly.

“Never a dull moment, eh Ruadh?” Jenny said, smirking at her brother.

“Aye well, isna moments like that I care for overmuch,” Jamie returned, giving her a lopsided smile.

After making sure Claire really was alright - a healthy rose colour having returned to her cheeks and her profuse insistence she was alright - Jamie dressed and went out to see if he could lend Ian and wee Jamie a hand, while Claire helped Jenny prepare breakfast for everyone. 

As it turned out, having Claire and Jamie there was a little blessing for Jenny, who had begun finding her daily tasks more tiring the closer she got to giving birth. At Claire’s urging, Jenny went to have a lie down while she tended to the chickens. After a while, Claire could feel Jamie’s eyes on her, a sweeping sensation taking her in from head to foot.

Without turning around, she said, smiling, “Are you going to just stand there or are you going to make yourself useful?” She heard him snort and his crunching footsteps come towards her. She handed him the seed, which he took a handful of and began scattering among the chickens. They worked quietly for a while.

“Why did ye not tell me it could be like that?” he suddenly asked.

“Because I honestly did not think it would be like that. I had not had any symptoms until this morning. I hoped - foolishly perhaps - that I would not have to go through it at all. Not all mother’s do.”

“It… scared me, Sassenach.”

She stopped doing what she was doing and looked over at him. He resolutely didn’t meet her eye, intent on the chickens at his feet. She went over to him and cupped his cheek.

“I know,” she said, softly. “I’m sorry it did. It caught us both off guard. But there is truly nothing to worry about. It is normal.”

He gave her a dubious look in return.

In an effort to change the subject and erase the underlying worry still lingering in his eyes, as well as being genuinely curious, she asked, “Why does your sister call you Roy?”

“Och,” he said, grinning despite himself. “It isna the English name. Just a wee Gaelic pet name. Ruadh,” he exaggeratedly rolled the ‘R’ for effect, “means red, for my hair,” he added, lifting up his curls in demonstration. He had to say it several times over and even spell it out before Claire could notice a difference.

“Sounds the same to me, Roy,” she said with a cheeky laugh and a shrug.

“Does it now?” He said, pulling her to him, making her shriek and just as he was about to start wheedling his way beneath her skirts intent on pinching her, they heard the rattle and rumble of a carriage coming towards the cottage. 

As they rounded the corner, they saw a no-nonsense looking woman dismounting a well traveled carriage ladened with supplies, which she began offloading. As they all gathered in the yard, she turned and addressed Jenny.

“I am mistress Martins, the midwife. Ye sent for me.”

After a quick but thorough examination of Jenny and the baby, and assuring Jamie - at his insistence she check Claire as well after her morning bout of sickness - that all was well and as it should be, mistress Martins settled in for a glass of whisky, bringing them news from far beyond their little hamlet. 

“Weather’s turning quickly now. I thought to make the journey here afore it wouldna be possible anymore. Of course with the villages by the coast so unsettled, what with rumours of the feral brutes across the sea plotting bloody murder - when are they never, I say,” Martins said matter-of-factly, taking a swig of her drink. She didn’t seem to notice the subtle change in the room at her words. “It wouldna have been advisable to leave the traveling too late. But as I say,” she continued, “the weather is turning for the worse now, attack or no, there is no’ much yon beasts across the sea can do until well into next spring, aye.”

Claire could see the wheels turning in Jamie’s mind, his forefinger tapping rapidly against his thigh. She reached out her hand, gently placing on top of his, stilling it. His eyes met hers and softened a little, but she could see the inevitable dread settle in.

“We need to get back to Lallybroch. Soon as we may,” Jamie whispered, later that night as they lay together, voice so low, Claire felt it more than heard it.

With the addition of the midwife, the little cottage was fit to burst. They’d scarcely had a moment to themselves to process what she had told them, let alone speak of it. But there in the dark, as everyone slept around them, Jamie couldn’t hold in his restlessness any longer.

“Do you really think he would make the crossing? He has all he ever desired, why would he risk it?”

“I feared he would, Sassenach. We knew this could happen. Dufgall’s ruthlessness is matched only by his pride. And after what we did… It isna an insult - as he sees it - he was ever likely to live with with grace, aye? We canna be sure if the rumours are true, but we canna take the risk of not being prepared if they are.”

They lay for a while, each lost in thought. They’d known true peace so sparingly, was their life to be this? Fraught always with uncertainty and chaos, Claire wondered. They’d always known the dangers, but she had let herself hope and believe that their life had finally settled, that Dufgall and his bloody hordes were behind them. Yet even now, as the winter wind howled around them, she couldn’t help but feel as if the specter of Jamie’s uncle howled with it.

“Claire—”

“No.”

“Ye dinna know what I mean ask ye.”

“I do and my answer is no.”

“Claire please—”

“I will not stay here, Jamie,” she said, rising on her elbow to look at him, dark as it was she could still the deep lines of worry between his eyebrows. She gently tried to work them away with her thumb. “Bad things tend to happen when we’re apart, I will not be parted from you again. We’ll stay long enough to help with the birth, it won’t be much longer now. A few more days, perhaps. Then we’ll go home, together.”

He cupped her cheek, thumb lightly tracing her top lip. “I canna lose ye, Claire. Ye or the bairn,” he breathed.

“You won’t!” she whispered back fiercely. “Whatever happens, we will face it together. Like always.”

He nodded and eased her down onto his shoulder, his arms coming about her. “Like always,” he whispered back.

The Dreamcatcher.

- A/N: A one-shot fic, set the morning of Claire and Jamie’s first meeting in the books/pilot.

He dreamt of the Dreamcatcher again.

He sensed it the moment his eyes opened in the dream. He could smell the scent of herbs and earth in the air. Her scent. He stretched out a hand and felt her warmth still linger in the bedsheets beside him. He raised himself on his elbows and looked around the room, but it was empty.

He slowly got up, his body smooth and lithe. He was naked, but that didn’t seem to bother him. Nothing ever did here. He moved through the house, light and quiet, as if he glided rather than walked. It was just as he remembered it. Everything felt comfortable and in its place. The plants on the window sills flourished. The sofa looked cushiony and inviting. A wee gray cat lay dozing on the hearth by the dormant fireplace. Everything was thrown into the serene shades of a slowly dying summer sun.

He knew then where she’d be.

He made his way to the back porch of the little rustic cabin. And there, leaning against the wooden railing, she stood watching the last of the late summer sunsets touch the distant mountains. There was a faint smile on her face as her dress, light as clouds, caught on a gentle breeze and hugged her body like ripples of water. She shut her eyes, tilting her chin ever so slightly upwards, her loose brown curls -  “a rather dull colour brown,” she always said, the thought coming vividly to him suddenly - caught too, on the breeze and flowed ethereal behind her like the delicate feathers of a dreamcatcher. The rays of light shone through it, turning auburn in spots where the sun kissed it, reminding him of the water in a burn, ruffling down the rocks.

Mo nighean donn, he thought, his breath catching.

He stood there, perhaps seconds, perhaps hours. Perhaps, even, a lifetime. He couldn’t tell anymore if this was all real or a daydream or a memory. A hope? He was suddenly overcome with the need to touch her then, wrap his arms around her, feel her warmth seep through him whilst he buried his nose in her hair and breathed her in.

But as suddenly as the aching urge had come over him, as suddenly as he’d taken that decisive step toward her, the world around his vision began to distort and blur. She seemed to finally sense him and turned with a beaming smile. The sight of him, he knew, took her breath away. She reached a hand out towards him, beckoning him to her, but the inescapable haziness seemed to pull him further away instead. The darkening blur closed in around her and the scream with which he needed to call out to her caught in his through, as she breathed a single word, her voice that was barely a whisper - a memory? - in the darkness now, filled him completely.

“Jamie…”

“Jamie! Jamie, ye eejit! Get up!”

He felt a rough hand shake him loose of his vivid reverie. The Dreamcatcher gone. And a dreary dawn drizzle chilled him to his core. He cracked open an eye and saw a tangled bushy beard hover over him. Murtagh. Dammit.

“We must make haste,” Murtagh babbled on, as the camp around them readied itself for the day’s journey. “Dougal wants to make it back to Leoch by the end of the day, he says,” Murtagh finished, straightening up, he gave Jamie an unceremonious kick in the ankle.

“Aye,” Jamie replied groggily. But it felt unreal to him yet. He moved and packed and loaded his horse as if in a trance. Unfeeling and detached. His mind and heart still on that porch, still with that nameless… Sassenach.  

He couldn’t (or wouldn’t ) tell what - on when - was real anymore. His time in that cabin always felt tangible and real. He knew that was where he belonged, with her. Yet this too, this relentless plodding through the Highlands was real too, but less so, somehow. And no matter how many times he told himself that it - she - was nothing but a figment of his imagination, of the months old blow to his head, he could still feel the echo of her voice, the scent of her body and the softness of her porcelain skin beneath his fingertips…

And as he was wont to do for months now, he began counting down the seconds till he could sleep once more, only so he could wake in that cabin again.

To wake to his Dreamcatcher.

END.

And with your heart? Always

A witch ought never to be frightened in the darkest forest … because she should be sure in her soul that the most terrifying thing in the forest was her. — Terry Pratchett, Wintersmith

The Frasers in America