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.

Wee Berserker Tease...

I know a lot of people have been asking for the new chapter, and again I truly apologize for the delay (with Berserker AND Women of Balnain) and just wanna thank everyone for their patience, love and support. It has really meant a lot. So, thought I’d drop a teeny tiny tease from the upcoming Berserker chapter (Part 18). I know it’s short, but I promise there’s more ahead 😉🤗

The Berserker - Part 17

- Masterlist.

Part 17.

 Claire hadn’t yet had the chance to tell Jamie her news. With one thing or another, she simply had not found the right time. They had all been busy helping build makeshift homes in pieces of Fraser land Brian had generously offered. With winter on their doorstep, there was not much that could be done but get everyone as comfortable and settled. Having no warning of their arrival, there had not been time to gather enough food and supplies. Everything, however, it had been agreed, would be shared as best as possible.

What time Claire and Jamie did have together was spent mostly sleeping. As it was, they were more like two ships on a foggy sea, as one tended to what sickness and injuries arose, the other helped with building the shelters. It was a tentative settling-in period, a coming together of new rhythms and personalities.

On one rare night they found themselves in bed together, wrapped in each others arms, bodies leaden with exhaustion - too tired to move, minds to awake to sleep - they lay listening to the hailstorm clattering against the roof of their sturdy, makeshift shelter just off to the side of the main house.

Soon, they’d be permanently settled. They had found a place to call home and build a life. It had been more than Claire could’ve ever have asked for, and yet she couldn’t help but worry. They had known each but a few months, months fraught with danger and adventure, and burning passion - each touch and word still a discovery. What would happen when they had become thoroughly accustomed to each other? Living day by day in a routine of mundane tasks. She felt that flutter in her belly once more - was it nerves or the life she carried, she could not tell.

“Jamie?” she whispered into the darkness. She knew he was still awake - his finger tracing whorls over her back.

“Hmmm…”

“Will you…” she began, “Will you grow tired of me, do you think?” she breathed. “Once we’re settled?”

“I was just wondering the same thing about you, Sassenach.”

“Were you?”

“Aye. Once we’ve become completely accustomed to each other. I canna help but wonder if… This life will be enough for ye.” She heard the silent words he could not bring himself to say. Will I be enough?

Claire propped herself up on her elbow to better get a look at his face, eyes adjusting to the darkness, before she spoke again. “Jamie,” she said, running a finger down his cheek. “Love, you’re…. Everything to me. Always.”

He leaned up and kissed her, feeling her lips trembling against his.

“And I willna tire of ye either, my Sassenach. That I can promise ye,” he said into her neck as he brought her in for a hug.

“How do you know?” she asked quietly, settling down once more, her nose inches from his on the pillow. His eyes twinkled, that cheeky smile she loved so much touching the edge of his lips.

“Because I wanted ye from the first moment I saw ye. But I loved ye when ye patched me up that first time in the woods.” He rolled on top of her then, cupping her neck in his palm, his thumb tracing her jawline. “But now I wake up everyday and I find that I love ye more than I did the day before,” he said, kissing her slow and deep. “That is how I know. And know it of ye as well.”

She took his face in her hands, a tear rolling down the side of her face and into her hair. “I love you,” she whispered, her body arching towards his, aching for any and all contact to be had.

His body responded in kind, and in the dead of night, all exhaustion was forgotten, as they found a renewed vigor in each other’s naked embrace.

The next day, Claire found herself knee deep in mucky snow, helping Elin salvage what vegetables they could from the winter frost. The men had all gone to help raise the roof of a temporary longhouse the new settlers would be using for the winter. Every able hand that wasn’t helping gather food and supplies, was needed.

They worked in an amiable silence for a while, but Claire could feel Elin’s eyes flick towards her, as they so often did since she had arrived. There wasn’t any malice in it, just… a wariness. Claire wracked her brain for something to say, something to break the growing charged silence.

She cleared her throat, the cold making it croaky. “Jamie told me he has a sister.”

“Aye,” Elin replied, digging deep to uproot a cabbage. “Jenny. She’s wed now and lives with her husband, Ian, on his family’s farm. We sent word of Jamie’s return, but she’s with child - her second - and it would not be safe for her to travel now.”

“Perhaps when things are more settling here, we could visit. I know Jamie misses her terribly and I would love to meet her as well,” Claire offered.

“And being a healer, you could perhaps share your expertise?” Elin asked, looking over at Claire who was having a tug of war with a carrot.

“Of course!” Claire exclaimed. “I’d love to help in any way I can.”

Their conversation continued along casual lines, but Claire could clearly feel the unspoken words beneath.

“Jamie tells me you were a shield maiden before settling down with Brian here?”

“Aye, but it was naught compared to being a wife and mother.”

I had the nurturing and the loving of him as a boy. What will you do with the man I help make?

“He tells me you’re a rare fine healer. Unlike any he’s ever seen.”

“I mended a gash across his stomach when first we met.”

Yes, I’m capable, and gentle, and will care for him.

“Ye say ye married soon after meeting.”

Did you wed my son for his lands and money?

“I would not exactly say soon - we had traveled for many a month and got to know each other rather well in a very unorthodox way - but yes, it may seem quick. Beyond knowing he was nephew to Kalman and Dufgall though, he was but a young man I’d met and fell in love with, in a land that wasn’t our own, but one we would have made our home if we’d had to.”

I didn’t care if he was laird of the place; I can only have loved and married him for himself.

And so it went, taking each other’s measure throughout the day. Exchanging bits of information and opinions. Filling in blanks that only they could, about his history and the lost time.

As evening began to set in, baskets full of vegetables for the stores, The two women made their way over muddy paths, the brisk wind whipping their hair around.

“When will you tell him?” Elin asked suddenly, going four steps before realizing Claire had stopped dead at her question. She turned to see blank shock on her face. “That you are with child?” she said, tilting her head to one side, assessing.

“How did you–?” Claire blurted, shaking her head.

“You do not live as long as I have and not be able to tell,” Elin replied, studying the look on Claire’s face, for a moment unsure she’d read her right. “You knew, surely?”

“Yes, yes I did,” Claire replied, quickly trying to regain her composure.

“How long have you known?”

“Not long. Only since we arrived.”

Elin nodded and began walking again, slow enough for Claire to quickly catch up.

“Why haven’t ye said anything to the lad yet?” Elin asked.

“I just haven’t really found the right moment. We’ve all been so busy,” Claire said, keeping her eyes on the slippery path.

Elin smiled. “There is no such thing as the “right moment”, Claire. All you really need is him. Everything else is just details. He’ll be mad wi’ joy whether you tell him in the pig pen or on a perfectly moon lit night,” she said, giving Claire’s shoulder a comforting squeeze.

“You’re right,” Claire said, a bit sheepishly, smiling from ear to ear. “Him being awake long enough for me to tell him is most essential, I suppose,” she added with a laugh, Elin quietly joining in.

Raucous laughter heralded the men’s return, Claire easily spotting her husband towering over all the others. He beamed unabashedly at the sight of her, his grin touching his eyes. A smile she knew matched her own. No matter how small or grand, Elin was right, every moment spent with him would always be the perfect moment.

The Berserker - Part 16

- Masterlist.

Part 16.

 It took them four days to make landfall. They had encountered rough seas and a storm that had separated them from one of the other boats in that night. But one they blessedly found not half a day later. The weather conditions were nothing compared to the excitement when word got round of who Jamie really was. And what he and his small band had done for those making the journey. A journey it turned out, that had not been sanctioned by the new Earl, but the former. They had stood and fought for them, without asking for anything in return.

It was unclear where most who had made the journey were choosing to settle, yet after Kalman’s fall, some - like so many before them - were preparing to fight, while others were determined to honor the treaties Kalman had forged.

Jamie however, had another idea.

“Come with us to Lallybroch,” he said to Biorn, the leader of the boat party. “There is plenty of land. A place where the families here can choose to settle in peace and be part of a community that chooses to live together.”

“And who are you in this land to promise such a thing?” Biorn asked skeptically.

“You know who my family is,” Jamie said simply.

“It has been many a moon since last you were here, boy. Who is to say your home still stands. Let alone be strong enough to take us all,” Biorn gestured to the families offloading their supplies.

“I have nothing but my faith and hope it still stands,” Jamie replied honestly, “there is only one way to find out. And you have nothing to lose.”

Why Jamie was so determined to give these people a safe haven was a mystery to Murtagh, who grumbled about the laboured progress they now made over the rugged terrain he and Jamie had longed for for so many years. Claire on the other hand knew exactly why Jamie did it. Knew that if he could spare one person, one child, from the horror of bloodshed, even for a moment, he would.

The weather decidedly shifted from a crisp autumn to a biting winter as the small caravan made their way over one wild munro after another. Permafrost crusted over every surface of land, making their footing dangerously precarious. Every able man and woman took turns carrying the young children with them when the terrain allowed. But the going was slow, the cold itself seeming like a great barrier between them and Lallybroch.

One night as they huddled around a fire, Claire nursing a particularly angry looking blister on the heel of her foot, Jamie leaned in and wrapped his blanket around them both, resting his chin on her shoulder.

“Do you know what day it is, Sassenach?” he asked.

“A bloody freezing one, I’d wager,” she said, cuddling into his side after slipping back on her stocking and boot.

Jamie huffed a laugh. “Aye, it is that. But it is not what I meant,” he said and turned her to face him. “Six moons ago, I walked into a barn with nothing but death in me. But what I found instead was life. Fierce, burning life. I found my other half.” He pulled out a roughly hewn silver ring, beaten and battered into exquisite shape and design, and took her right hand in his left. “I do not know, if anything, what we may find when we get to Lallybroch,” he continued, slipping the ring onto her ring finger, fitting perfectly, “but I know that we can face it together.”

“Jamie…” Claire breathed, her eyes transfixed on the ring. Every measured blow was raw power contained, strength carefully and delicately harnessed. The craftsmanship undeniably Viking, yet there was something about it, she thought, giving the ring a closer inspection. Something quintessentially Celtic about it. “It’s beautiful.”

“In honor of both my parents,” Jamie said, watching her trace the bumps and whorls. He brought his right hand to hers, and she saw the twin ring to hers, albeit a thicker band, on his ring finger. A simple yet undeniable gesture of their bond. A unique token of their union.

“I ken it is not much and I have not had much to give ye, ever-”

“Jamie,” Claire interrupted him, taking his face in her hands and looking him in the eye, “you will always be more than enough for me. Always. You belong to no one else but me, and I belong to you. Nothing will ever change that.”

On their sixth day of travel, Lallybroch came into view. And it took Jamie’s breath away. In many ways, it was exactly how he remembered it, but it had changed. Had grown. The homestead had been expanded, the stable finished. He felt the sting in his eyes seeing the early winter frost coat the sprawling grounds. He’d paused, feet rooted to the ground as he saw figures - nothing more than pinpricks in the distance - briskly moving around the near frozen kaleyard. Her felt Claire’s fingers entwine with his and squeeze.

The entire party had paused behind him.

“What do I say?” he said, quiet enough so only Claire could hear.

“They are your family, you don’t have to say anything at all,” she replied, nudging him forward.

Her back was turned when Jamie saw her. They’d slowly made their way down the pathway that led to the homestead, his mother was knelt by the small cabbage patch. She slowly straightened up as she heard their approach, her hand instinctively going to the knife on her belt as she turned.

Claire felt Jamie tense. She stood slightly behind him and wished beyond anything that she could have seen his face as his eyes locked with those of his mother’s - eyes identical to his own. But she could see the emotion on Elin Fraser’s face. The myriad of emotions blooming on her face - from shock and disbelief to utter relief - as it registered who stood before her. A man much changed yet still her boy. Tears welled up as she saw and heard nothing but Jamie.

“Jamie….” she breathed, watching him for a long moment. “Ciamar a tha tu, mo chridhe?” she asked suddenly, her voice thick with emotion. Claire had come to pick up enough Gaelic since meeting Jamie and Murtagh to tentatively understand her. How are you, darling?

Jamie took a step forward. “Tha mi gle mhath, mathair,” he replied, hesitantly. I am well, mother.

“An e ‘n fhirinn a th’aged?” she asked, closing the gap between them. Do you tell me true?

“Aye,” Jamie said, opening his arms to her as she stepped into his embrace and sobbed. “Aye, I am, Ma.”

The world seemed to have melted away as mother and son clung to one another. But as the restless shuffling of the Viking band grew, their precarious reunion was abruptly cut short when Elin peeked over her son’s shoulder and took in the sight of the disheveled bunch.

“What’s this?” she asked in the common tongue, using her sleeve to wipe away her tears.

Jamie’s glistening eyes found Claire’s at once, outstretching his hand to her. “Ma, I would like you to meet my wife. Claire,” he said barely containing his joy. “And these,” he gestured to the group at large, “are our companions. They’ve traveled wi’ us in hopes they’d find a safe haven here.”

“Wife?” Elin repeated, dumbstruck.

Just then, a man came round the side of the house, leaning heavily on a wooden cane, his beard thick and grayed. Jamie’s entire body froze.

“Da?” he breathed, voice breaking at the labored, uneven gait.

“Blessed Bride… Jamie? Is that you, lad?” the man called, coming to a stop as his eyes took in the sight.

Elin reluctantly detached herself from her son as he hesitated a step towards his father.

An old, forgotten strength gathered in Brian Fraser as he let his cane drop to the ground, unremembered and limped into his son’s arms.

By the time Jamie and Claire had finished explaining who their party were and recounted all that had happened in Kattegat - Murtagh and Lamb filling in where they could - it was well past midnight. The families had been settled in where ever space could be found; be it barn or tented field, everyone seemed grateful to finally have a quiet place to rest their heads.

Claire could feel Elin’s eyes on her. On and off through the night, Claire felt the air of curiosity in the gaze. Curiosity and questions. A sizing up of the woman who had captured her son’s heart. A delicate balance that would soon be unavoidable. But for now, both women were contented in sharing their family’s tentative joy at being reunited.

They fell silent after a while, sharing a dram, a cold howling wind and the crackling fire the only sounds, Jamie eyes lingering on his father’s cane as they had that evening. The questions in him burning, but fear of their answers scaring him into silence.

“The night you were taken,” Elin began following his gaze. “The night William… It was a great shock to your father-”

“It was a great shock to us all, mo chridhe,” Brian put in gently.

“Aye it was,” she returned with a smile, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “The apoplexy took your Da before any one of us could react. I just thank every God that will listen everyday it didn’t take him where I could not follow.”

“I’m so sorry, Da,” Jamie whispered in a voice Claire had never heard before. A voice that squeezed her heart. The voice of a young boy.

Brian sat forward, drink forgotten beside him and cupped his son’s face in his hands, giving him a gentle shake. “It wasna your fault, lad. Do you hear me, a bhalach? It wasna your brother’s fault either, it wasna anyone’s fault but Dufgall and Kalman’s.”

Jamie nodded sheepishly, unable to meet his father’s eye. Claire had seen the man she loved in all manner of states; from fierce warrior to tender lover. From cheeky best friend to reluctant leader. But she never thought in life she would see him so. As gentle son. And knew the depths of her love for him would never cease. That she found she would love him more everyday than she she the day before and never tire of it. Of him.

She felt it then. A tiny fluttering sensation, at once entirely familiar and completely new. Like a burst of butterfly wings beating inside her that made her heart skip a beat and her breath catch. And knew she was not alone.

The Berserker - Part 14

- Masterlist.

Part 14.

 Claire watched from the shadows of a skeleton boat as Murtagh haggled with a short, robust man. Their conversation becoming more animated the longer it went. She couldn’t hear what they said over the ding of hammers on wood, but after a few more energetic gestures, the men almost nose to nose, Murtagh made his way back to her.

“Friend of yours?” she joked.

“Och aye! Anager’s a good man. Canty forebye! I helped him build his sister a goat pen after marauders burnt it down a few years back. Then helped track the men and put them down,” he said casually. “He builds the small fishing boats hereabouts.”

“And you can trust him?” Claire asked, giving Anager a judicious look.

“Aye. Just told him I needed to teach my niece,” he gestured at her, “recently arrived from inland, how to fish for the winter in case I canna do it for her.”

“And he believed you?”

“I can be very convincing when I want to be, lass!”

And so they set off on the ricketiest little boat Claire had ever seen. The only one Anager could spare, apparently. Claire was sure with their combined weight the boat would promptly sink, but it held them well enough.

They made it to the cove Jamie had marked for them - a safe haven. But Claire quickly realized safe it may be but comforting it was not. When she had things to occupy her mind - travel, gathering supplies, navigating the short distance down the coast, setting up camp in the hidden cove - her worry for Jamie and Lamb wasn’t yet crippling. But the moment she and Murtagh settled down for the evening, all her fears and anxieties rushed to the surface. They had no clear view of Kattegat from their vantage point, but its presence loomed over them like a rain cloud. There was an unnatural hush around them that neither was ready to acknowledge. Claire looked toward Kattegat, could see it freshly in her mind’s eye and remembered a once half-forgotten God.

Lord, that he may be safe. He and Lamb.

Claire tossed and turned through the night, even the echo of the memory of Jamie’s arms could not sooth her. She could feel Murtagh across the fire, as awake as her, poking the logs with a stick, making them crackle.

“The lad will be fine,” he said suddenly.

Claire sat up, propped up on her elbow. “I wish I could carry your certainty,” she said.

“Perhaps it is because I’ve known him since he was a wee’un,” Murtagh mused.

Claire snorted. “Well, for as long as I’ve known him, he has had an unsettling ability of always being in need of a healer.”

“Perhaps just a particular healer?” Murtagh said with surprising cheek, making Claire breathe a laugh.

They watched the fire for a time, the soothing lap of the water the only sound above its crackle. There had been something Claire had been meaning to ask Murtagh for a while, but hadn’t known how to start or even let herself imagine that far ahead. But here, in the dark quiet, she knew only the flicker of hope would be her only comfort.

“Murtagh…”

“Hmmm?”

“What are… what are Jamie’s family like? His parents?” she asked, not meeting his eye.

He considered for a moment, then reached into his pack and pulled out a skin of ale and took a sip, passing it to her after he’d done so. “They are good people. Great people. Loyal to a fault. They love fiercely. Fight fiercely too, for those they love. Ye willna meet better people. They willna shun ye if that is what worries ye.” He guessed her fears before she’d even found words for what it was.

“I just cannot help but wonder what they would make of their son, who they have not seen in years, finally returning to them, but with a bride at his side,” she confessed.

“I think- I know - it would hearten them beyond measure to seeing their lad inexplicably find love and happiness in this -” he gestured vaguely around them, “- utter misery. To see that this harsh life that his mother knows all too well, didna extinguish that spark in his eyes. That his life wasna all darkness. His mother,” he said, and a fond smile like Claire had never seen before bloomed on Murtagh’s scruffy face, “Ye ken she was a shield maiden in Dufgall’s party?” At her nod, he continued, “aye, well, she’s a formidable woman. She is strong and wild when she needs to be, but she is also soft and quick with a smile. And tender, so tender, especially when it comes to her bairns. She has kent what it is to live on a knife’s edge and not lose yerself. Her lad almost lost himself in this place, but ye showed him a love that brought back his tenderness, his smile. Ye made him think and rationalize like his Da, again. Ye gave him back his family in a way I never could.” He went silent for a while as Claire quietly sniffed and discreetly wiped a tear away before it could fall. “So, dinna fret, lass, ye are his family. His heart. And for that alone, so will the Frasers be as well.”

Claire nodded once again trying to swallow the lump in her throat, and lay back down watching the stars peeking through the clouds. She knew her fears were irrational, but in a strange way, thinking about a future where she met his family gave her hope that this wasn’t all there was ever going to be - living in fear at every turn, running to stay alive, not knowing if ever she would see Jamie and Lamb again - that there was something to look forward to, that there was hope for a normal life. A life full of laughter and love.

Lord, that he may be safe. He and Lamb.

“Up, lass!”

Hearing the urgency in Murtagh’s voice, Claire sat bolt upright.

“What is it?” She asked automatically, eyes adjusting to the dim morning light.

“Kattegat burns,” was all Murtagh said as he stared off into the distance. She followed his gaze and a sharp breath caught in her throat. Large plumes of smoke rose high into the sky in the distance, faint snippets of shouts catching on the wind. Claire immediately got to her feet and moved to Murtagh’s side, fear rippling through her.

“What do we do?” she asked quietly.

“We wait.”

Jamie’s lungs were burning. He knew so were Lamb’s by the sound of his heavy breathing behind him. The thick smoke singed up his nose. But he didn’t dare stop. He had already had to cut down two men who’d barreled through Lamb’s window after them. Jamie’s sword felt heavy in his hand, but he didn’t lower it, not even as he saw Lamb slow down behind him. He grabbed the man by the collar and hauled him forward. They had to keep moving.

“Think of Claire!” Jamie urged, “push through the pain by thinking of Claire!”

They made it through the treeline without anymore encounters, but Jamie knew they couldn’t afford to slack. With his sure footing he led Lamb through the woods, it would take half a day to get to the cove if they didn’t stop, but Jamie was taking no chances they’d be followed, and giving Lamb moments of respite, would double back and cover their tracks.

By midday, the grim sounds from Kattegat had faded. Jamie briefly left Lamb by a small stream to catch his breath and have a drink of water while he doubled back once more. When he returned Lamb was already waiting.

“Any sign of pursuit?” he asked.

“No,” Jamie replied, “but we cannot be too careful.”

Lamb nodded picking up his pack and followed Jamie through the woods. They moved swiftly for a few more hours, neither having any breath to spare for words. When they’d finally cleared the woods, they saw the pillars of smoke rising from where Kattegat sat in the valley below. Whatever Dufgall had imagined, Jamie thought, it didn’t quite go according to his plan. He’d met far more resistance than he’d anticipated.

Jamie let out his first breath of relief when he was finally hit with the welcome scent of brine in the air, he felt the tension slightly leave Lamb’s shoulders when he too realized they were close. He could see the jagged cliffs ahead and prayed Claire and Murtagh had made it.

For hours, Claire paced back and forth, her eyes scanning the two narrow entry points into their cove. Murtagh busied himself checking and rechecking the boat and their supplies. She knew waiting couldn’t actually kill her, but there was no denying it clearly was going to be the death of her. The helplessness had been absolute and utterly agonizing.

It came as no surprise to her in a distant sort of way when the sound of crunching gravel under foot stopped her heart, then took her legs completely away from her when Jamie and Lamb came into view as they rushed down one of the steep and narrow paths. She didn’t feel the sharp stones digging into her knees as racking sobs escaped her, her tightly coiled emotions she’d kept held in, breaking free. She cupped her hands over her mouth trying to keep them from spilling out and undoing her completely. But it was no use, not when she felt Jamie’s strong, familiar hands take hold of her elbows and raise her to her feet.

She buried her face in his chest, her fingers fisted into his shirt as he wrapped his arms around her, rubbing her back trying to ease her, making gentle soothing noise as he did so. She pulled away and blindly reached for Lamb, who grasped her hand tightly in turn. Through her tears, she cupped Lamb’s gaunt face, she couldn’t believe he finally stood before her - whole and alive - before wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

“It’s alright, my girl,” soothed Lamb, giving her hearty pats on the shoulder. “I am alright. Shaken but whole. Your friend saw to it.”

Claire pulled away slightly. “Friend?” she asked, voice thick with emotion. One look at Jamie and she could tell he hadn’t told Lamb about them. She smiled at his sheepish expression. “He is a little more than that,” she said, holding a hand out to him to join her by her side. “Lamb, I would very much like you to meet… my husband.”

A myriad of emotions flashed across Lamb’s face. Not least of all joy. “My girl!” he exclaimed, “I feared for you every moment of every day. It fills me with such relief and elation to know you were not alone.”

“She is the strongest person I have ever met,’ Jamie put in, his voice full of pride as he beamed at Claire. She smiled back and tucked herself into his side.

Murtagh - who had been standing by the boat, watching the scene unfold - cleared his throat. “We best be going. It isna safe to linger, we can speak more on the journey, aye?” he said.

Jamie gave him a grateful smile and went to hug him. “Aye,” he said, “aye, ye’re right.” He turned back to Claire, who had her arms around her uncle again as they followed behind. “So, Sassenach,” he asked, “are ye ready to go home?”

“Yes,” she simply said as he helped into the boat. She had never been more ready for anything - save Jamie - in her life.

The Berserker - Part 12

- Masterlist.

Part 12.

 The cottage was softly bathed in gently candlelight. The fire crackled quietly. The world itself seemingly hushed, leaning in to listen to every word spoken inside.

Claire and Jamie stood facing each other, wrist to bloodied wrist, a soft cloth wrapped delicately around their tightly joined hands. Murtagh wiped the small dagger he’d used to slice open neat lines on the inside of the wrists.

An ancient rite. And a handfasting. A joining together Claire knew would be more powerful than anything she’d ever felt in her life. She felt it burrow beneath her skin, coalesce into her blood. They said the words together, Murtagh bearing witness to the coming together of two souls.

“You are blood of my blood, and bone of my bone.

I give you my body, that we two might be one.

I give you my spirit, till our life shall be done.”

Quiet vows and whispered promises that changed the very marrow in their bones.

There was no fanfare, no lavish feast, no day long celebration. None of it needed or wanted. There was just them exchanging their hearts into the safekeeping of the other’s.

Once finished, Murtagh gave a quick, gruff but surprisingly heartfelt toast. “I’m not a man of very many words,” he began shakily, meeting neither in the eye, “but I ken what true love looks like. I have only ever seen it once before. With your parents, Jamie. And I consider it an honor to be able to witness their lad find it for himself. Ye both deserve to be happy and I vow to ye now Claire, just as I swore it to Jamie’s mother I’d watch over the lad before I left,” he put his ale down and took her hands in his, squeezing gently, “I vow to protect you the rest of my life.” But, just as suddenly as his spurt of sentimentality had come, he cleared his throat, shuffled his feet and it was gone as he not so subtly made himself scarce.

The sudden empty space created by Murtagh’s departure filled with a charged silence. It seemed ridiculous after sharing a bed, a body to be struck with shyness around one another.

Claire huffed a laugh and stepped closer to him. Taking the alehorn he’d been holding, she took a sip before putting it down on the table. Then slowly, took hold of his coat’s lapels and pulled him down for a kiss. He smiled against her lips.

“Will it scar, do you think?” Claire asked, gazing down at her now bound wrist.

“Murtagh didna cut too deep,” Jamie said peering down at his own wrist. “I think it will fade after a time.”

She frowned, considering. “I was hoping it would scar permanently,” she mused, peering beneath the cloth.

“Were you now?” Jamie smiled, taking her by the waist and bringing her body flush with his.

“Yes. Something that would endure. Something that told the world you belong to only me. And I you.”

He kissed her brow, his lips lingering. “We will always be that, Sassenach.”

“I know,” she said, wrapping her arms around his waist. She looked him dead in the eye then, her stare unwavering. “Jamie, I want you to mark me.”

“What?” he asked, startled by the shift in her.

She pulled out of his arms, and went to the chest by their bed and pulled out a small dagger. “Cut me,” she said quietly. “Deep enough to leave a scar. I want take your touch with me, to have something of you that will stay with me always.” She saw hesitance flash across his face. “I don’t care if it hurts,” she continued, tipping her head to her wrist, “at least when I see it, touch it, wherever I am, I can feel your touch on me.”

He didn’t need to ask if she was sure, he could see it all too clearly on her face. He took her delicate hand in his, his thumb stroking her palm. After a moment, he squeezed her hand and nodded. He brought her palm to his lips and kissed it gently then, examining it carefully, he took the base of her thumb in a hard, sucking bite. Letting go, he swiftly cut into the now numbed flesh. She felt no more than a slight burning sensation as the blood immediately welled up. Jamie brought her palm to his mouth once more and held it there till the flow of blood slowed and stopped. As he wrapped her hand in a fresh piece of cloth, Claire glimpsed the shape he’d deftly etched into her. The rune for ‘J’.

It took her moment to realize he’d silently held out his hand for her to do the same. Claire read the intensity in his gaze and took his hand and dagger, her eyes never leaving his. A log in the fireplace cracked and sent up crackling sparks, like a burst of starlight as Claire swiftly but deeply etched the rune for ‘C’ into the base of his thumb. He didn’t wait for her to bind his thumb before he stripped the cloth off hers and brought their palms flush together.

“Whatever troubles happen around us, Claire” he promised, “this, what it is between us, never changes.”

Claire cupped the back of his neck with her free hand and bought his mouth to hers, walking back towards the bed as she did. But before the heat between them threatened to undo her completely, she sat him down on the edge of the bed and went for her medicine box. She cleaned and binded their wedding markings. Markings that sealed their belonging to each other. Till our life shall be done, they’d promised.

“Longer than that,” Jamie said, seeing the words lingering in her eyes.

They took each other then. It wasn’t frenzied, but neither was it gentle. They took each other - knife to its scabbard - moving hard, a need beyond mere wanting, bringing each other to the peaks of sensation and undoing again and again, to the edge of release. Till finally the shuddering denial became unbearable, Claire tightened her legs around his hips, urging him deeper, forcing him to let go. He echoed her shattered scream as they both fell over the edge of oblivion.

“You and Murtagh will wait for me on Kattegat’s southern border, by the coast,” Jamie was saying as they huddled over a crude map he’d drawn on the ground. He’d tasked them with aquiring a sturdy skiff that could quickly take them down the coast to Ribe. It was the fastest way he could think to get them swiftly away once he found a way to get Lamb out. “Keep to the bluffs for cover,” he said to Murtagh using a twig to mark the area on the map, “ye ken where. I will find you.”

“Aye,” Murtagh replied, studying the map.

With the Gathering only meant to last three days, Jamie’s window of opportunity was a tight one. Everything had to go according to plan - he had little chance of convincing either uncle to end hostilities, but his focus wasn’t on his uncles anymore and he prayed it would be enough. He couldn’t yet let himself think about what escape meant. About the chance of seeing home and family once more. With a wife no less. He couldn’t yet let himself hope.

“May the weather stay in our favor,” Jamie said, looking to the cold but clear heavens through the forest canopy.

Still looking at the map, Claire took his hand and squeezed. “May luck be on yours,” she simply said.

They departed the next morning - Jamie for Dufgall’s camp, Claire and Murtagh for Kattegat - Claire adamant no goodbyes were exchanged. Jamie had nonetheless taken his time kissing her - as he had taken his time the night before as they tangled around each other in bed - before they left.

Claire could not quite wrap her mind around how much had changed since that fateful dawn Jamie had come into her life. Her Berserker, her husband, her best friend. His steps did not falter as he headed - yet again - into a unknown situation.

And here she was, with her tightly braided hair, her shield strapped to her back over her fur cloak, short sword and dagger on the belt of her breeks. Her dark, supple leather tunic keeping the chill of weather and fear at bay. Both her and Murtagh carrying large leather packs ladened with supplies. Would Lamb even recognize her now?

Kattegat was a hive of activity when Claire and Murtagh arrived. Claire kept the hood of her cloak up even as she and Murtagh blended into throngs of people that had accompanied their lesser Earls for the Gathering.

“How are we going to steal a boat with all these eyes around?” Claire whispered to Murtagh as he led them through the crowds.

“Steal?” Murtagh said incredulous, coming to a stop. “We arena stealing a thing! There is a reason I took work with the boat builders, lass. I’ve been preparing for this day since the moment I arrived here. So, nay, we arena stealing.”

Claire smiled at his prim tone. “So what are we doing, then?”

“There’s a man that owes me a favor. I mean to collect.”

Kalman’s hold was much like Jamie remembered it. The doors opened to as grand a hall as there was, the large, rectangular fire pit in its centre splitting the walkway down the middle, deterring any enemy forces from flooding in and attacking. The two aisles were lined with Kalman’s men, leaving little room for a brawl - forcing all those that entered to split their forces. Kalman himself sat on his raised throne at the far end of the hall, flanked by his loyal bannermen and kin, watching as his brother’s contingent slowly filed in, Jamie at Dufgall’s shoulder.

Jamie’s eyes immediately began scanning the room. Not for any potential enemies, but for Lamb.

“Welcome home, brother,” Kalman’s cold voice boomed, pulling Jamie’s focus. “Nephew,” he added, inclining his head towards Jamie, who in turn bowed his head and subtly resumed his search.

Dufgall watched his brother carefully, but said nothing. The tension in the room was palpable and Jamie could feel no peace would be found here today.

Kalman knew it too, for he said, “Eat, rest. Tomorrow we talk terms,” just as Jamie’s gaze found a man standing half hidden behind Kalman, near a door to an adjoining room. His eyes warily apprehensive as he watched they simmering volatility. Jamie knew immediately. Saw Claire in his whisky eyes. He was exactly how Claire had described him, if a little rougher around the edges - the full beard unkempt, his skin sallow and shoulders turned inward.

Tentatively, carefully, Dufgall’s contingent broke apart and mixed into the crowd, quiet chatter began to fill the silence. Jamie slowly wove through the crowds. First getting myself a horn of ale before making his approach to Lamb. He knew eyes were upon him as much as they were on Dufgall, he’d need to be careful. Lamb made his way to the spit of meat roasting over the fire pit, Jamie trailing behind.

Without looking at the old man, Jamie said into his cup only loud enough for him to hear, “Lamb Beauchamp,” in his own tongue. “Don’t… react,” Jamie hissed as the man violently started. “Keep your eyes on the meat. I’m here to get you out. Claire-”

“She is alive?!” Lamb urgently interrupted. “She is alright?”

“She is whole. She lives and she misses you desperately,” Jamie reassured him and saw the tension drain from Lamb’s shoulders.

“Thank god,” the old man breathed, and Jamie was worried his knees would altogether buckle beneath him. “I did not know. We heard of the raid, but… I did not know all this time what had befallen her.”

Jamie grabbed a slice of meat and chewed slowly as a group of men went by, Lamb following suit.

“I will tell you all you wish to know, but we will have to be careful. I am here to bring you back to her,” Jamie said.

“How do I know I can trust you,” Lamb asked warily, giving Jamie a harsh sidelong stare, taking in his size, scruff and aloof demeanor he always adopted when around his uncles’ men.

“Because,” Jamie said, slipping a hand into his pocket, coming away with a small object and slipping it into Lamb’s hand. “She asked me to give you this.”

Lamb stared down at the chipped arrowhead, his eyes brimming with tears.

Claire had given it to Jamie the last night they spent together. She’d fished it out from the bottom of her medicine box. A token and talisman she’d carried with her wherever she went, she’d said.

“I can not believe she kept this… “ Lamb said quietly, wiping his eyes and running a thumb over the smooth surface. “It was the first bit of history she ever uncovered with me, when we first began our journey north.”

Jamie couldn’t resist briefly clapping a hand to Lamb’s shoulder.

“Stay alert and ready,” Jamie said, moving away from him. He’d lingered too long already. “I’ll find you again when I can.”

Lamb gave an infinitesimal nod in answer before meandering through the crowd, the arrowhead tightly clenched in his palm.

Jamie found a spot in a dark corner and leaned against the wall, sipping his ale. His mind and heart racing as he watched the men around him begin to loosen with drink. He’d found Lamb. All he needed now was a way out.

The Berserker - Part 11

- Fanfic Masterlist.

Part 11.

 Jamie left later that day with kiss and a promise to be back soon as he could manage and instructions for Murtagh to find alternative routes back to Scotland other than those from Kattegat.

“There is something I mean to ask ye, Sassenach. When I get back,” Jamie had whispered to her as Murtagh went about gathering some supplies for him.

“Ask me now,” she’d whispered back, fingers locked behind his neck.

“No. I want to have something to look forward to. For both of us to look forward to. So I shall leave this wee bit unsaid, until next I see ye,” he’d replied, kissing her brow.

Claire had felt her heart crack as she watched him and Murtagh leave the little cottage. She could have sworn Jamie had heard the sound - like the sharp snap of a twig - because he’d looked over his shoulder then and gave her a smile the seared itself into her memory.

She moped about the cottage, feeling utterly useless. Jamie and Murtagh were off facing unknown dangers and here she sat, unable to help. Every inch of her wanted to run out and follow them, but she’d promised to stay. To wait. And wait she did.

Murtagh returned a few days later to tell her he’d be traveling down the coast to some other hamlets, to see what he could manage to arrange - if anything. She’d begged him to let her go along, but he’d been adamant. She’d wait and he’d travel alone, it would be quicker, but he would be back in time for the gathering and hopefully Jamie’s return as well.

And soon, he was gone once more. And she waited.

Claire filled her idle time with making as many different salves, draughts and tinctures she could with her limited resources she had at hand and keeping up with her training best she could on her own. Yet no amount of activity she drowned herself in shut out the pain that struck her deeply at the thought of the men in her life out there.

But when the worrying started to hurt, she’d picture Jamie. She always did. In that secret way that was uniquely theirs. She’d shut her eyes and feel the warmth of the breath on her neck, his burr in her ear, his calloused fingers journeying over her body, the softness of his bite on the pulse of her neck…

And if it meant waiting forever for him to return to her, she’d bloody wait.

The days began to blur together and her thoughts often drifted to her uncle. What had his life been like since last she’d seen him? Had he been treated well? Had he just found his new journey an exciting adventure as he’d always done? Had he even spared a thought for the niece he’d left behind… No, she knew Lamb, better than anyone and knew he would be as worried about her as she was for him.

She didn’t even let herself entertain the other possibility. She’d have felt it if he no longer was… No, she didn’t let herself entertain that thought.

She’d wait.

Jamie walked into his uncle’s camp with a single minded focus. Walking with purpose, he went straight to Dufgall’s tent and gave his “report” on Kattegat’s defenses. He’d taken a quick detour before returning to camp, and got a rough idea about where Kalman had sured up his defenses, but nothing that he was sure Dufgall didn’t already know.

His uncle in turn informed him about the contingent he planned to take with him - Jamie was not among them. Yet.

That would be Jamie’s mission. To get on that contingent. To help find and restore Claire’s uncle to her, he would do anything.

He knew some of the men his uncle had chosen, some that had come to him after his whipping. He went to those men next. He had to be careful in approaching them. While he’d felt a slight shift in loyalty, it was still precarious territory thinking they’d go against Dufgall in any major way. So he’d done as Claire had once asked him to - to put his mind to work before his sword.

Quiet conversations were had around cooking fires, gauging the strength of tethers inadvertently created, testing how far some were willing to bend in his favor. He didn’t manipulate - he didn’t need to - for the faint rumbles of discord had always run through his uncle’s men. Some had been separated from family and home. Few had regretted taking Dufgall’s side over Kalman’s the moment the needless bloody carnage began.

Yes, Jamie thought as a smile crept into the corner of his mouth and he quietly watched the men around the fires, there are indeed cracks I can work with. He just had to find where to start applying gentle pressure.

Four days before the Gathering, Jamie returned to the cottage. He saw Claire’s shoulders sag in relief as she rose from her wee garden and slowly come to him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. He burrowed his nose in her hair, taking a deep breath of that heady herb scent of hers.

“No lashes this time?” she asked, hand gently rubbing his back.

“Nay, I’m whole. Especially now that I’m wi’ ye,” he replied, giving her a squeeze. “Is Murtagh back yet?”

“No. Not since he journeyed down the coast.”

Jamie nodded and looped his arm around her waist, guiding them back to the cottage. He had a lot to her, but needed food in his grumbling belly first.

“The men are frustrated,” he said around a mouthful of rabbit stew. “Well, a few are. Some had to leave their families behind when Dufgall left Kattegat and the prospect of spending winter in a crude tent while sieging a village they have loved ones in… They were more than willing to give up their spots in Dufgall’s war party for me, if I would be their voice. But I first had to convince Dufgall.”

“And did you?”

“Aye, I think I did. Played to his ego, told him it would be a great show of solidarity and strength if I were to be at his shoulder.”

“Jamie…” Claire said tentatively, “if you do get in and find uncle Lamb, what then? These men trust you to relay their concerns-”

“One bridge at a time, Sassenach,” he said and pulled her into his lap. “I first need to get in. Speak with Kalman if I can and find yer uncle. Not to mention we still need word from Murtagh before we can decide anything.”

She nodded slowly and let out a breath. “One step at a time.”

They didn’t have long to wait for Murtagh’s return. He arrived early the next morning in a rare, chipper mood, banging the door open, jolting them awake from beneath the furs.

“Up wi’ the both of ye!” he hollered, thumping a pair of dead rabbits onto the table. “I have news and willna wait about for ye two to finally grace me with yer attention!”

Jamie grumbled under his breath as he reached for his discarded shirt and handing Claire her tunic and breeks, which had somehow found their way to separate corners of the cottage.

“So, what’s yer news?” Jamie huffed when they’d all settled at the tiny table.

“I found someone who’s planning on braving the crossing before winter,” Murtagh said bluntly, taking a swig of ale. “I was making my way down to Ribe when I came across a caravan headed there too. They had gotten word a crossing was imminent. I did not have time to make it all the way there to confirm and back in time, but we have an option. It is slim and not one that will wait forever, aye.”

Claire exchanged looks with Jamie. If a crossing before spring was a possibility, this changed everything.

“How long would the journey be? To Ribe?”

“This time of year? A week if we hurry.”

Jamie stood and paced the room. Claire could see the thought bloom on his face and already had her answer ready.

“Claire,” he began eagerly, “You and Murtagh start heading there-”

“No,” she replied flatly, when he confirmed her suspicion. “We are not leaving here! We do this together, Jamie, I will not be parted from you again.”

“Claire-”

“The lass is right, Jamie. We stick together this time.”

Jamie stood towering above them, hands braced on his hips. They blandly looked back at him, neither backing down an inch.

“You two are insufferable,” he huffed and sat back down beside Claire. She laughed and took his hand.

“You are stuck with us, I’m afraid,” she said, bringing his hand to her lips.

“Aye, ye are. So what’s the plan, lad?”

Jamie gave them a half smile and she could see the tension leave him. As much as he wished them safe, she could see he was glad he wasn’t alone anymore. He sat back and let out a sigh.

“That can wait,” he said, his eyes fixed on Claire. “There is something else I want to do first. Something I have wanted to do from first I ever saw you, Sassenach. There was something I wished to ask you.” Murtagh seemed unable to contain his scruffy grin as Jamie sat forward and took both her hands in his. “You have always had the protection of my body, of my clan and family,” he glanced at Murtagh, then back at her, “you have had the keeping of my heart from first we met. I have but the one thing left to give you, Claire. My name.” He smiled as he saw her chin wobble and silver line her eyes. He pulled her stool closer to his, till she was nestled between his legs, his nose nearly touching hers. “Will you do me the honor and be my wife Claire?”

Her hands cupped his face hard, bringing his brow to hers, a tear slipping down her cheek. Not trusting her voice, she nodded, but added a shaky, “Yes,” voice thick with happiness. She broke down, unable and unwilling to hold back and Jamie pulled her onto his lap, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist. “Yes,” she repeated.

Everything could wait, she thought her arms around Jamie like a vice. Just a little while longer, everything could wait.

The Berserker - Part 10

- Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part  5. Part 6. Part  7. Part  8. Part 9.

Part 10.

 Claire slowly came awake the next morning to the feel of Jamie’s teeth grazing against the sensitive skin just below her left ear and the heady scent of him enveloping her senses. She hummed contentedly.

“Finally,” Jamie hoarsely murmured. “I thought you’d never wake.”

She could hear the smile in his voice as his hands roamed her body.

“And a good morrow, to you too,” she replied, burying her hands into his tousled curls.

Their naked lengths were still tangled together beneath the furs, languidly grazing against every inch of bare skin available. Claire ran her hands from his neck to his chest, flicking his nipple lightly, delighting in the gooseflesh she left in her wake. His lips nipped at the dark marks his mouth had left on her fair skin - marks she knew matched those she’d left on him - in their frenzy the night before. He rolled on top of her with a growl as she ran her nails hard down his arms, leaving streaks of red. She’d been careful with his back though, her fingers and lips had traced the tender skin for what felt like hours in the dark, never putting too much pressure even though Jamie said they didn’t hurt anymore.

He pulled away just enough to look her in the eye, his hand coming up to stroke her cheek. “How… How do ye feel?” he asked timidly, voice raw still.

She knew what he asked. It went deeper than the words themselves. It had been their first time - with anyone. And even though they’d been joined more than once the night before - Claire smiled, remembering their primal coming together, the memory still throbbing between her legs - he still worried about causing her that kind of pain. Her own hand cupped his cheek, her fingers traced his swollen lip, the lip she’d bitten.

“Safe,” she simply replied. “You?”

She was rewarded at once by a singularly sweet smile that lit his face up. “Safe,” he said.

Claire would have been content to stay in bed all day, breathing in Jamie, roaming his body freely, but Jamie had other plans, much to her chagrin. After a hot breakfast in bed, Jamie insisted he simply could not relax knowing how abysmal Claire was with a bow. He would not just “lie about” while they could be training.

So there she stood, Jamie towering behind her, bow in hand and her quiver leaning against her leg.

“Keep your left arm straight. Aye, that’s right,” he said, making sure her forearm was firm enough. “Elbow up,” he added, tapping her right elbow to keep it from dipping. She loosed the arrow, which sailed a few metres from the dummy’s head.

Arrow after arrow after arrow, Claire got closer to the target.

“Just breathe,” he whispered, next to her ear, “and let go.” she did so and the arrow caught finally the edge of the dummy’s left hand. “Good!” he beamed. He stepped closer to her as she nocked another arrow. She could feel the heat from his body seep through her tunic, his thighs grazing the back of hers. She fought against the urge to lean back into him. “Keep you core strong,” he murmured, his right hand snaked around her waist and gently pressed against her stomach. “Deep breath,” he said, nose grazing the back of her ear.

“You’re very distracting,” she murmured back, eyes fluttering.

“Concentrate.”

“How can I with all that goings on back there?”

“Deep breath,” he repeated and she could hear the smile in his voice. She did as he asked, his hand still firm on her stomach. “And loose the arrow as you slowly breathe out…”

She let her arrow fly, which landed with a satisfying thunk! in the dummy’s body.

“Again,” he said, teeth gently sinking into the sensitive flesh where her neck met her shoulder. His right hand traveling further down, burying itself down the front of Claire’s breeches.

“Jamie,” she moaned, finally unable to stop herself from leaning back into him.

“Again, my Sassenach. One more time.” His fingers stroked, teased, kneaded her languidly. His other other came around and unbuttoned her tunic, slipping in to cup her breast. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back onto his shoulder with a sigh. But stretched an arm down and blindly grabbed an arrow. With every last ounce of self control she had, she nocked it, barely remembering Jamie’s instructions - her body thankfully remembering enough - and loosed it. With another satisfying thunk!, the arrow buried itself into the dummy’s head.

Claire threw the bow to one side, kicking the quiver away as she turned in his arms and captured his lips hungrily with her own. She pressed against him, feeling just how mightily roused he was through his own breeks.

“Inside. Now.” she ordered. He didn’t argue.

Jamie had cracked open the leather hides covering the windows, letting in rays of afternoon sun that uncharacteristically shone through. His fingers delicately traced where the shafts of rays tangled up around her face and naked body.

“I could sit for hours, Sassenach,” he rasped out quietly, “watching you bathed in light so and in flickers of firelight, and still be awed each moment. Though I am a bit jealous,” he added cheekily, taking her nipple in his mouth. “The daylight seems to want ye just as much as I want ye.”

She laughed under her breath.

“I’d die happy if this was all I ever remembered,” Claire whispered back, fingers lost in his curls. “My fingers journeying over every hill and valley of your naked body. Every smooth expanse and calloused edge. I could get lost in you for hours. Days.”

This time they didn’t leave their bed. Save to warm up something to eat or use the privy, they spent all their time entwined around each other. Claire couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed so freely and by the bewildered look that always flashed for a second across Jamie’s face every time he did, neither did he.

“How did you learn to sword fight like that? With both your hands?” Claire asked as she captured his hand between her own from where he’d wedged it between her legs.

He bent his head looking suddenly sheepish. “I’ve always been naturally left-handed,” he said, drawing delicate circles with his thumb into her palm. “But, it was always… frowned upon whenever I used it freely. So, from when I was a wee lad, I was forced to learn to use my right hand. To make it my dominant hand. From writing and fighting and such. It was only when I came here. Dufgall, he is left-handed as well and encouraged me to train with the left as much as the right, to be able to change guard in the blink of an eye. Said it was invaluable in battle to throwing opponents off guard to do so. Because of Dufgall, I mastered both. Only gift he ever genuinely gave me,” he finished quietly, not meeting her eye.

“You’re a beautiful fighter,” Claire whispered after a moment. She ran the back of her fingers down his temple, tracing his brow and down to his lips. “There is a… grace to the brutality. I never realized just how much so, until you made love to me.”

His shocked eyes snapped to hers, making her huff a laugh.

“I feel how powerfully controlled you are. How gentle in your desire you can be. How absolutely ravaging in your release. You rouse me to such a blinding response, I wonder if it will ever stop.”

“If what will ever stop?” he asked, kissing her brow.

“The wanting you,” she replied, tracing his lips.

He rolled onto his back, bringing Claire to straddle him. He watched with hooded, craving eyes as she rocked above him, bringing him to settle to the hilt within her.

“I hope to whatever Gods may be listening,” he groaned, “that it never does.”

They were out gathering firewood the next day, the chill in the cottage finally forcing them out of their bed. As they made their way back inside, Jamie stopped dead in his tracks so abruptly, Claire nearly walked four steps ahead before she realized he wasn’t beside her.

“What is it?” she asked turning back and seeing him go taut. The only sound around them that of a solitary chirping bird. Jamie’s face broke into a huge grin.

He’d watched them from deep within the shadow of the trees, his heart lightening for the first time in years. The lad was laughing like he’d never seen him do before. They teased each other, their laughter filling the world in a way Murtagh thought was long lost. He was loathe to interrupt their hard won contentment, but knew such bliss would be their battle to keep. They were likely to never stop fighting for it. He breathed a deep, sad sigh and let out a chirping whistle.

“I ken yer there, ye old bugger!” Jamie called with a laugh, turning on the spot.

“Aye, good to see ye havena lost all yer faculties yet, lad!” Murtagh said, stepping out from the treeline with a grin so broad Claire thought his face would surely crack open. He hadn’t seen Jamie, Claire realized with a jolt, for near half a year since he’d left with his uncle’s horde. Jamie dropped the stack of firewood he’d been holding and rushed to give his godfather a bearhug, squeezing the air right out of the grumpy old man’s lungs.

“How long have ye been here?” Murtagh asked when Jamie set him back down.

“Going on four days now. Why?” he replied, seeing Murtagh’s smile fade.

“Kalman’s called for a meeting with his brother. A Gathering is to be held to discuss terms,” Murtagh said gravely. “I havena been able to get close to Kalman’s hold to find anything out about the lass’s uncle,” he continued, nodding towards Claire, “but if the brothers are to meet…”

“Then I can get into the hold as part of my uncle’s party,” Jamie finished his godfather’s thought, who nodded in agreement.

“No,” Claire said immediately, fear shooting through her. “You will not put yourself into the jaws of the beast for me, not again, Jamie. We will find another way.”

“It’s alright, Sassenach,” he replied soothing, stepping towards her and putting his arms round her waist. “Once a Gathering is called, a truce sits upon the meeting. No blood may be shed until it is over. It is our best opportunity to move freely - but carefully - through the hold. To search for him. When is the Gathering to take place?” he asked turning back to Murtagh.

“A fortnight hence. They await the other lesser Earls to arrive.”

Claire could see the wheels turning in Jamie’s mind. Two weeks. Two weeks for him to maneuver himself into Dufgall’s trusted inner party. A group he’d been skirting around the periphery of for months. She wrapped her arms around his neck bringing his temple to her own. She couldn’t bring herself to think of what the future held for them a fortnight from now, not yet. Not when she’d known utter, unencumbered happiness with him for such a brief time. She wouldn’t let that darkness mar what they’d had. Not yet. So she’d held him. And wouldn’t let go till she absolutely had to. Seeing the look in Jamie’s eyes, she knew neither would he.

The Berserker - Part 8

- Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6. Part 7.

Part 8.

 The next few hours went by like a blur. Mordur spirited her away from the waterfront, talking in low tones whenever around any Norsemen, making sure Claire kept her hood up. She’d tried giving him a brief recount of what had happened, but he’d given her terse “not here,” and they’d kept moving in relative silence.

They moved towards the outskirts of Kattegat and through a heavily wooded area. To Claire it seemed they wove through the woods aimlessly, keeping no mind as to where he was taking her. But to Mordur’s sure footing, he seemed to know exactly where he was going. If she’d been with anyone else other than Jamie, she’d have begun to worry, but he was Jamie’s man and for that alone he had her trust.

After a while, Claire began to make out in amongst the trees, the rough shape of a cottage, obscured masterfully by the foliage around it. She wouldn’t have even noticed it there had Mordur not pointed it out. It was small with a thatched roof, old logs of firewood were stacked against the side wall next to a low chopping block. A small, neat clearing in front of the doorway came into view.

As Mordur made for the front door, Claire hovered nervously in the clearing. She’d had questions bubbling up inside her throughout their journey, but tired and drained as she was, she was at a loss for how to broach the subject.

“Dinna loiter,” Mordur said sternly, opening the door and ushering her inside.

“Who are you to Jamie?” she blurted out, arms tightly crossed about her.

Mordur stood staring at her for a moment, his face unreadable. Then turned and walked towards her. “I’m the lad’s godfather. A few years back, his mother begged me to come and watch over him, even if it were from a distance. No one was to know, so I took up a false name, one of theirs and built this place so we could have a place to meet wi’out having to worry aboot curious eyes on us. No one here kens that but you now. The lad trusted ye to me, so I trust ye. For his sake. Will ye do the same?”

“I already do,” she said with a tired smile, “or I wouldn’t have come out here with you.”

“Then come inside, lass and let’s get ye warm, aye?”

They went inside and Mordur went about starting a fire. The surfaces were covered in a light film of dust, Claire could tell no one had been here in a quite a while. She sat on a rickety chair at the modest table for two, eyes scanning the one roomed cottage. There was a small hearth which Mordur knelt by, striking his flint, two windows covered in hide on either side of the front door, and a bed that seemed to be entirely made up of furs, in the far corner of the room. A roughly made chest beside it. There were a few scattered candles on sconces on the walls.

“I’ll go hunting in a bit for our supper,” he said straightening up and joining her at the table. “But first. Is the lad alright?”

“Yes,” Claire said immediately, but added reluctantly, “the last time I saw him, that is,” tears threatening to undo her. Mordur nodded, and with a go on gesture, Claire took a deep breath and told him everything. Meticulously, through tears and nerves, she told the crusty old man every detail. He’d leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and stared into the fire as she spoke.

“If anything’s happened to him, it will have been my fault and I do not think I’ll ever be able to forgive myself,” she finished, her sobs finally overpowering her.

“Aye it will,” he replied, but not unkindly - more absentmindedly than anything. Then his focus suddenly came back to Claire and he sighed, taking her hands in his. “But the stubborn lad knew the risks when he agreed to go back. If anyone can endure, it is him,” he tried to reassure her. And to an extent, succeeded.

After a modest dinner of roasted rabbit and scattered conversation, Claire’s body was ready to collapse into the furs she’d been eyeing all evening and sleep for a good thousand years - Mordur having kindly helped shake out the dust off the furs earlier.

“There’s a wee lean-to at the back of the cottage. I’ll sleep there tonight. There’s a privy too, if ye’ll need it,” he’d informed her.

As she arranged the furs back on the makeshift bed and Mordur fixed to leave for the night, a question came to her suddenly.

“Wait!” she called after him, making pause and turn. “What’s your real name, if you don’t mind me asking?”

He smiled. “Och! ‘Tis Murtagh. Murtagh FitzGibbons Fraser.” An odd wistful look crossed his face then that he shrugged off almost immediately. “I havena said my own name out loud in years,” he added quietly.

“Well, thank you, Murtagh. For everything. I haven’t the words to properly-”

He waved her off with a self-conscious gesture. “‘Tis nothing, mistress. Get some rest, aye,” he said shutting the door behind him. “Tomorrow we begin yer training.”

“Wait, what?” Claire called after him, but he was already gone.

Just before dawn, Claire was unceremoniously woken from a deep sleep with firm hand on her shoulder shaking her to consciousness.

“Hey!” he said sharply and took her by the shoulders and sat her up. “On yer feet lass, we’re wasting the morning.”

“The sun is not even up yet, you old git,” she said stubbornly, as he placed a cup of hot broth in her hands with a snort.

“I dinna have all morning,” he said, throwing her a pair of supple leather breeches and a matching worn tunic, then moved towards the chest beside the bed and pulled out a couple of wooden swords and targes, short and long daggers, and a bow and quiver.

Claire cast him a wary glance. “Listen,” she said calmly. “I appreciate you trying to help, but I’m not a fighter. I never have been.”

“Listen,” Murtagh countered, “I willna always be here. The longer I’m gone the more likelihood questions will be raised. Yer safe here, but I will not leave you unguarded completely. For yer own sake and Jamie’s - and mine,” he added reluctantly, “We’d all sleep easier knowing you could at least handle a blade.”

Claire knew he was right. She may be a healer at her core, but she found herself in an impossibly dire situation that called for drastic measures. As much as it went against everything she believed in, she nodded.

“We’ll go slow. A few hours a day learnin’ different techniques and weapons. I’ll show ye the basics today, then get ye started on the harder moves later on.”

An hour later and Claire could barely lift her right arm. She’d doubled over, bracing herself on her knees, all the while the crusty old man hadn’t even broken a sweat. ‘We’ll go slow,’ my pale white arse, she thought annoyed. He’d gone easy for about five minutes, before his blows got harder and harder - “So yer body gets used to the impacts,” he’d explained. Lunges, parries, deflections, all taught with ruthless efficiency. Her “stance” was apparently atrocious and he’d spent a solid fifteen minutes pounding her targe to teach her how best defend and keep her guard up while planting her feet solidly.

Sword-fighting, she was informed, was far more than just sticking people with the pointy end. She had to learn to read her opponent’s movements and faints. Learn to use her targe not only for defence but offence as well. Every weapon had its technique, all of which he’d show her. He’d built a practicing dummy out of what wood and straw he could find so she’d have something to practice on while he was away. “Dinna be afraid to hit it at full strength. Learn to absorb the impact, use it to your advantage,” Murtagh explained, then demonstrated what he meant.

“Yer a quick learner,” he said, handing her a skin of water. “And yer stronger than ye think. Ye willna be the strongest, but that doesna mean ye canna take down opponents bigger than ye with a few well placed blows.”

Three frustrating hours later, Murtagh headed back to Kattegat in infuriatingly good spirits, leaving Claire exhausted and bruised, her muscles feeling like melted candles. But nonetheless, she’d promised him to keep practicing the few techniques he’d shown till next she saw him. And as much as Claire fought against the idea of learning how best to take someone’s life, she couldn’t help but feel safer for it, to know she was building in herself a defence she so sorely needed.

And so it went for a month, Murtagh would show up every three or four days to make sure she was fairing alright and train with her. She’d filled her days between setting up snares, chopping firewood, training and using a small area by the side of the house to start herself a modest herb garden - which Murtagh had simply ‘mmmph!’d at but said nothing. He came with what news he could. Dufgall had camped his horde somewhere on the outskirts of Kattegat. Not quite a siege yet, but a warning. Kalman though knew he still had the upper hand - the numbers and loyalty of the people. A tense stalemate in effect.

But Claire didn’t cared a lick about any of that. All she wanted was word of Jamie. The moment she saw Murtagh, it would always be the first thing she’d asked. His answer was always the same. Always heartbreaking. Always no.

So Claire had thrown herself into her training. Every blow, every technique she learned, every reverberation of every blow was a release of the tension, helplessness, fear and tears she felt building inside her. Only her tiny herb garden helped balance out the rage of not knowing with a calm peace she sometimes felt she didn’t deserve.

She’d began to get stronger and faster. Her muscles working in ways they’d never done so before, began to tighten and lean up. Much to Murtagh’s surprise, she’d also started putting together her own combos, shocking him with pivots and strikes, level changes and counters he had never expected her to put together.

“I’ve had a lot of time on my own to get creative,” was all she said, with a smug smile as the tip of her wooden sword jabbed his side.

Murtagh had told her - much as Jamie had - that no ships were making the crossing till nearer to the spring, so only thing she could do was lay low and wait, while Murtagh tried to find out anything about her uncle in Kalman’s inner circle. If he even was there.

Her nights alone were some of the loneliest Claire had ever felt. During the day she’d have things to distract herself with, but at night, left alone with her thoughts, they’d always without fail, eventually end up on Jamie. She’d long since stopped trying to shut them out. They’d become both a comfort and a curse. Bringing with them both serenity and pain. She’d let her mind wander over the memory of his face and touch, hear his soothing laugh and that smile that had more than once woken her from deep sleep panting and wanting. She couldn’t escape him - nor did she want to.

As the biting cold of winter steadily approached, Claire found herself once more, as Murtagh once again left her drenched in sweat after a vigorous session of defensive maneuvers, with strict instructions she train on the one thing she was yet completely inept at - shooting a bloody arrow. As of that morning, Claire was yet to hit her target. Or any target for that matter. Arrows either fell limply at her feet, or sailed so wildly off course, Murtagh had more than once been forced to climb the cottage’s roof to retrieve them.

So, there she stood, in her fur cloak, quiver near empty at midday and the dummy in front of her still irritatingly arrowless.

“Bugger,” she murmured to herself as yet another one went sailing well over the dummy’s head. But as she nocked another arrow to her bow, she heard the crack of a twig in the treeline to her right. Her eyes snapped up, her senses sharpening as they’d been wont to do of late the longer time she spent alone. At first she thought perhaps Murtagh had forgotten something, but when he didn’t emerge, every hair on Claire’s body stood on end, a shiver running up her spine. She rotated on the spot, slowly scanning the area around her. She saw nothing but could feel eyes on her. After making a full turn, she slowly crouched, exchanging her bow with a dagger, when she felt rather than heard someone step out of the treeline behind her.

She whirled round, readying to strike, just as her visitor said a few metres away from her, “I see you’re finally paying more attention to your surroundings.”

The Berserker - Part 7

- Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6.

Part 7.

 Jamie paused in the shadow of the tree line just as his uncle’s camp came into view. He shifted the deer carcass - the dead weight had been cutting into his shoulders uncomfortably as he’d navigated the soft, uneven, muddy terrain - trying to distribute the weight more evenly. He’d spent the entire journey back thinking what he’d say, more importantly how he’d say it - it had been a long time since he’d had to play at subtle deception.

But now as he glimpsed the two sentries at the camp’s entrance, he took a moment to let his mind wander as it often did to Claire. Shutting his eyes, her pale, ivory skin vividly swam into his mind’s eye. The softness of her skin beneath his calloused touch. The rich, heady herbal scent that clung to her curly hair and body that always threatened to undo him. Her gentle touch. Her soft laugh. Her voice that soothed him even at his most visceral. Her utter stubbornness that he couldn’t help but smile at the memory of now.

He’d known better than to ask such a thing of her. She was a healer. She had always been so. But for so long, he’d learned only blood was the answer. Only violence… Now, she was teaching him to think of other ways, to relearn and use parts of himself he’d long locked away. Like his compassion and humor. She’d given him back his tenderness as he’d given her his courage. And now she’d given him back his cunning. A way to strike without having to lift his sword.

He adjusted the deer once more and confidently walked out of the shadows and into the dull morning sun, nodding at the sentries as he went by. He found his uncle exactly where he’d known he’d be this early in the morning - at the training pits - and dropped the carcass without ceremony at his feet.

“Good morrow, uncle,” he said formally yet pleasantly enough. Dufgall didn’t take his eyes off the sparring boys.

“Where are Mor and Robert?” he demanded by way of greeting.

“We were separated hunting this one,” Jamie said, poking the deer with his toe.

“Were you now?”

“I couldn’t find their trail once the storm hit and washed away the paths. Took cover till morning. Are they not back yet?” he asked, voice honest and curious, he’d almost believed himself if he hadn’t known the truth.

“No.” Dufgall looked at him then, taking in his ragged, wet clothes, splattered with mud and blood, then at the deer (whose throat Jamie had cut to mask what blood he had on him).

Jamie shrugged, unperturbed by his uncle’s tone. “They’ll be back soon enough, once they find a way back down. They aren’t likely to go long before needing a horn or two of ale,” he said, stretching his arms above his head, back popping from the strain and making to walk away. His uncle snorted and eyed him dubiously but said nothing.

But as Jamie meandered his way to his tent, his uncle called to him. “Have them come see me the moment they are back in camp,” he said coldly, his voice betraying nothing but contempt and mistrust. “Oh, and Ivar will be taking over hunting duties from now on.” With that, Dufgall went back to watching the sparring, leaving Jamie with an uncomfortable shiver running down his spine.

Claire traveled hard over the next two weeks, sometimes traveling all night when the moon was full and skies clear, making sure to keep well clear of the marauding horde. She knew she had gotten ahead of them when she stopped seeing the fires at night. And in those dark nights alone, she ached for Jamie, but he never returned to her. She’d sent him back and he’d asked for one thing in return and for him, she’d endure. She’d endure the terrain, endure the harsh weather. She’d endure the loneliness and pain of being without him and make it to Kattegat. If she was to never know his fate, it was all she could give him now. Her promise kept.

The days began to blur together. She fell into an unending routine of survival, a forward momentum that was driven only by her thoughts of Jamie. Two and a half weeks he’d said, but it felt like a lifetime before she saw the worn wagon paths come into clearer view in the mountain passes. A tell tale sign she was getting close.

It was another three days before Kattegat came into view, the village’s expanse nestled comfortably in the valley below. She could see even from this distance the boats - mere pinpricks - moored at the waterfront. Her destination.

Her grip on her pack’s strap tightened reflexively as she could feel the restless energy that hung over the village as she entered. A nervous, palpable tension ran through it. They knew what was heading their way. She had only been through Kattegat once when her and her uncle arrived with their captors - or rather hosts as they liked to call themselves. And hosts they were once Lamb had struck his bargain with the Earl.

Claire slowly wove her way through the throngs of people, the village buzzing with activity. It felt good to be among people again, Claire thought - alive and vibrant. Mothers calling to their children, merchants selling their wares, the clash of steel in the distance of warriors in training. She finally had a chance to lose herself in the bustling masses.

The smell of brine and fish reached her before the sight of the waterfront did. She began asking anyone she could around the simple shipyard for Mordur, but none seemed all that patient or willing to help. She slowly made her way along the waterfront, having to contend with either vulgar catcalls or thoroughly indifferent men. If they knew who he was, none were saying. Eventually though a young boy with a string of fish pointed her towards a scruffy looking man sharpening a knife along a whetstone, as he sat on an upturned barrel, his beard dominant on an otherwise grimy, humorless face.

“Are you…” She began tentatively, trying to gauge the man before her. “Are you Mordur?”

He spat on the whetstone and kept grinding his blade against it. “Who asks?”

“My name is Claire,” she said, stepping closer to him.

At her name, his head snapped up, his sharpening ceasing. He knew she wasn’t one of them.

“I am Mordur,” he confirmed, standing up. “How can I help ye, lass,” he said, lowering his voice and switching languages so abruptly, it took Claire a moment to realize he even had.

She stood watching the man, uncertain she could really trust him, if he was who he truly said he was. But she’d made it this far on Jamie’s word alone, trusted he wasn’t playing her false. She took a deep breath and kept her word.

“I was sent to find you,” she said, looking beyond the man’s bushy beard and into his eyes, gauging his reaction.

“By who?”

“Seamus Ruadh.”

A myriad of emotions flashed across the man’s face - shock, hope, confusion, joy and above all else, understanding.

“Aye,” he said, his face cracking with a surprising smile. “The numpty would be the only person I ken destined to find the only other Sassenach here to send my way,” he laughed, and for the first time since Claire had said goodbye to Jamie that fateful night, she finally felt she wasn’t so vulnerably alone anymore.

The Berserker - Part 6

- Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5.

Part 6.

 Claire stood transfixed, pressed hard against the rock wall. Her mind had gone completely blank, everything had happened so quickly that her mind just hadn’t had time to catch up to the scene in front of her. Jamie’s unreadable face was splattered with blood, the two men lay limp, unmoving. Claire’s entire being felt numb, not even the beating rain against her body registered any feeling.

“Claire?” the berserker said gently, barely audible over the now pounding rain. “Claire?”

She didn’t respond, just continued staring blankly at the bodies.

Jamie half lifted his arms, his face finally regaining a gentle, kind and human expression, and moved towards her slowly, as if approaching a spooked animal about to bolt at any moment. He reached out tentatively, inch by inch, for her hand. She didn’t bolt though as he grazed his fingertips against hers. Emboldened by that, he stepped closer - blocking the bodies from view - to her and brushed his hands up her arms until they came to cup her face, forcing her to look up at him.

“Claire,” he said, giving her a gentle shake, making her eyes finally focus on him. “You are alive. You are whole. All is well.”

She stared at him a moment before her hands floated up and stopped at his chest, where she slowly gripped the front of his shirt, tighter and tighter till her knuckles went white.

“There’s someone else out here,” she managed to gasp out desperately, “they were looking for someone else!”

“Aye, I know. It was me they were searching for,” he said, thumb lightly stroking her cheek. “Dufgall started sending them out with me whenever I said I was going hunting. That is why I haven’t been able to come see you.”

She nodded, his words slowly sinking in. Her grip loosened but didn’t let go of his shirt. She closed her eyes and let out a shaky breath, her forehead landing heavily in the centre of his chest. He rested his chin on the crown of her head and rubbed her back reassuringly for a long time, till he felt her shaking start to ebb away. She still shook a little but more from the cold now he thought.

“Why?” he heard her ask, voice muffled by his shirt.

“He grew suspicious of my hunting trips. Even though we hunt a lot, he found the frequency with which I did strange. He sent these two to see what it was I did out here,” he explained.

“I’m so sorry,” she cried, shaking her head. “I’ve been nothing but trouble for you!”

He leaned back and tilted her chin up with his finger, bringing her to meet his eye, her own brimming with tears. “What are you talking about?” he said in disbelief, “you have nothing to be sorry for. Don’t you see, for so long I’ve been living in the shadows, then I saw you standing there, in that barn and it was as if the sun came out.” He ran his fingers through her hair as he spoke, voice tender. “I’m grateful you are here. No matter the cost.”

She smiled at him shyly, tears forgotten. She used the edge of her cloak to gently wipe away the blood that had sprayed across his face, his eyes closing at her touch. “Why must you always be covered in blood,” she murmured, making him smile, before wrapping her arms around his neck pulling him into a tight embrace and felt him bury his face into her neck and taking a deep breath as his arms went about her like a vice.

“What now?” she whispered after a long while.

“Now,” he said into her hair, “you have to stab me.”

She held him a fraction longer, unsure she had heard him properly. Then very slowly, she disentangled herself from his embrace and held him by the shoulders at arms length, searching his for any sign of jest, for surely he was joking.

He wasn’t.

“Absolutely not.”

“You must.”

“Why must I? Why must you hurt yourself further. No, Jamie, there has to be a better way!”

He sat cross legged beside her and rubbed the tiredness from his eyes. They’d been at this for an hour already. The torrential downpour mercifully having long stopped. “If there is, I cannot think of it. Claire,” he said her name with such pleading, her heart skipped a beat, “I do not know how to explain this other than that we were set upon while hunting.”

“And they may believe you if you too are injured, I know, but I will not hurt you!”

God, she’s a stubborn woman! he thought, exasperated.

“I’m not asking you to hurt me, I’m asking you to injure me… Slightly,” he said for the umpteenth time.

She got up and roamed their little shelter, then gestured at the carcass of the deer he’d dropped, along with his bow and quiver, when he’d first crept up on the two men.

“Say you were hunting - which you were. Say you got separated during the chase for the deer - which you were. Say the rain washed away any tracks leading back to the two men -”

“- Which it wasn’t.”

“Say you looked, but didn’t find them,” she powered through, ignoring his interruption, “and decided to head back to camp with your kill, thinking they’d done the same once the storm passed. Say anything that doesn’t require you being hurt.”

He stood up too and crossed his arms, a bemused look on his face. Then, very deliberately, walked towards her, pulling out his dagger as he did so and grabbed her hand, palming her dagger.

“I’m asking you, Claire. As a friend. Please do this.”

“We can run,” she said desperately. “Right now, you and I, we can just run! Don’t go back, let us make for the coastland with all haste-”

“I wish we could,” he said, cutting across her plea, “I honestly wish we could, but if I do not return, my uncle will send his best trackers after us. And not even I can outrun them. We would never make it. Not like this.”

She stared at him for a moment. He truly believed this was his only way. Her fingers curled around the hilt of the dagger and she swallowed heavily. “Fine! Bloody fine!” She’d try. For him.

Seeing her nod, he stood back and tapped his right shoulder. “Here,” he said needlessly, making her roll her eyes.

She shifted from foot to foot, trying to find a solid stance and took a few steadying breaths in the process. She stretched her arm out, the blade’s tip an inch away from his shoulder and retracted it. Back and forth she measured her blow.

“Alright, are you ready?” She asked. He nodded, planting his feet.

She measured a couple more times, then said a prayer and lunged. But her instinct not to hurt him overrode what flimsy resolve she had for this stupid endeavor and she pulled back at the last second, only poking him harmlessly with the dagger, causing his shoulder to sway backward slightly. She hadn’t even broken through his shirt. He stared at her dumbfounded.

“What was that?” he asked.

“Just give me a moment, please,” she said, turning away from him and tried shaking off the nerves.

Turning back to him, she attempted the maneuver a few more times, but was simply unable to bring herself to do it, much to Jamie’s frustration.

“Perhaps the bow?” he suggested, thinking the distance might help her.

“And risk shooting you in the face? No. Besides, I’ve never shot an arrow in my life,” she retorted.

“God, woman, but you are hard-headed!” he exclaimed. “I’ll do it myself, then,” he said, grabbing the dagger and pressed the tip to his shoulder, readying himself for the coming impact.

“No!” Claire burst out and took hold of his forearm, the tendons taut with anticipation. “No, you bloody will not! Jamie please listen to me,” she implored, “I have done everything you have ask of me, traveled as you have instructed, followed your every word without question for weeks. But now, I beg you follow mine. Just once, do as I ask.” She pulled the dagger from his hand with little resistance and threw it to the ground, but didn’t let go of him. “Take your kill back to camp,” she said, nodding towards the deer, “and feign ignorance about their whereabouts. Tell them… mountain passes were washed away, plant the seed that they may have been caught in a mudslide or perhaps that it is only a matter of time before they catch up once they found a safe route back to camp. Spin them any tale you need to that for once isn’t drenched in more violence.”

She saw the argument bubbling beneath the surface, but to her immense relief, he relented.

“I’ll do as you ask,” he said quietly.

“Give me your word you won’t just walk out of here and stab yourself anyway.”

She saw that cheeky grin of his slowly bloom as he looked up at her, cocking his eyebrow mutinously, but, “you have my word, Claire,” he said earnestly.

Dawn was slowly beginning to creep up the horizon by the time they’d found a deep, narrow ravine to hide the bodies and Jamie was ready to head back to camp.

But he hesitated.

“Claire, I need to tell you something,” he began ominously, making her stomach drop uncomfortably. “We are about two and half weeks away from Kattegat. I do not know what will await me back at camp or if I’ll be able to see you again, should this plan not work.” He grabbed her shoulders as she began to argue and gave a reassuring squeeze. “I’ve given you my word, I will see this plan through, no matter the outcome. But should I not return, you must continue ahead. You must promise me you will make it to Kattegat.” He waited until she reluctantly nodded, and continued, “once you get there, do not go straight to Kalman’s stronghold. I have a man in Kattegat. You must find him. He goes by the name of Mordur. Go to the waterfront, ask for him, you will find him there. Tell him…” Jamie paused then, thinking of how best to convey the message he needed to send. “Tell him Seamus Ruadh sent you. You can trust him. Tell him everything, he’ll help you. Can you remember it all?”

Claire nodded again. “Find Mordur at the waterfront, tell him Seamus Ruadh sent me,” she repeated confidently. He smiled at her.

“Go with God, Claire,” he said, leaning down and kissing her forehead, then rested his own against hers. “I pray we will see each other again.”

She gave him a fierce hug then, putting into it all the words she could not say yet. And picking up his bow and quiver and slinging the carcass over his shoulders, he gave her one final nod as he walked away and was gone once more. Claire knew in that moment, their hearts would never be the same again.

The Berserker - Part 5

- Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4.

Part 5.

 Jamie had not been lying. The journey over the next four days had been the hardest yet of Claire’s life. Apart from the dagger he had given her and her medicine box, she had no food, no clothes that afforded her any warmth and no means of knowing what was happening around her. On her fourth night however, as she set up her meager camp for the night, she spotted pinpricks of campfires in the valley below and let out a sigh of relief. She’d at least managed to keep within range of the war party - and Jamie - without getting lost.

She was about to sit down to her supper of what little edible plants she’d found along the way, when she heard a rustle in the trees beyond her fire. She hastily grabbed the dagger, hoping it was nothing more than some harmless woodland animal. Her heart skipped a beat though, when she saw the berserker emerge from darkness, an animal skin pack slung over his shoulder and two dead rabbits on his belt.

She stood up hastily, torn between rushing into his arms and holding on to whatever proprietary she had left. She did not hide the relieved smile that blossomed on her face at the sight of him though. And neither did he hide his.

“I’m sorry I could not come to you sooner. It has been difficult to find an opportunity to leave the camp,” he said, setting the pack down, his eyes never leaving hers.

“You’re here now,” Claire replied, moving around the fire to him.

“I cannot stay long,” he said, bending down and opening the pack, “It is my uncle’s name day tonight, but I wanted to get these to you as soon as I could.” He pulled out a thick woolen tunic and breeks, sturdy boots, socks and belt with a scabbard for the dagger, a fur mantle and most importantly, a thick fur hooded cloak. She almost cried from joy. Warmth. “I did not know your size exactly, but I think they’ll fit you fine. They belonged to some of the young boys in the camp. I do not think they will notice a few random items missing.”

“Thank you, Jamie. This… you really did not have to do all this for me,” she said sitting down beside him, “I cannot tell you how much this means though. It has been a… tricky few days.”

“It’s nothing,” he said with a shrug, not meeting her eye. “I wanted to. I-”

He noticed then, her bare feet wrapped in a sharp smelling plant, her flimsy shoes having been torn away during her journey. A stab of guilt pierced through him seeing the raw, broken and cracked soles of her feet, seeing what she endured already to keep up with them. He unthinkingly reached out a finger and gently ran it down her foot. “I’m sorry,” he said, barely above a whisper.

“It’s nothing that won’t heal with time. These help,” she gestured at the leaves and pulled out the salve from her box she’d been using, “they manage the pain and keep the sores from festering, and bringing fever and such.”

He nodded, taking the salve from her, and without a word and ignoring her protests, took her feet in his lap and began softly applying the sharp smelling salve to her feet. Claire thought she should have found it strange he should do so, but she didn’t. She watched him quietly as his calloused fingers slowly worked the salve into her skin.

“How did you get away? Will they not wonder where you are during your uncle’s celebration?” She asked after a while.

“No, I think not. They are all quite taken with drink tonight. I simply said I was going out to hunt and walked out. It is not so unusual for me to do so. As long as I return… I always do.”

He had said the words mildly enough, but she could hear the frustration and animosity that underlined them all.

“I thought the pack would be the tricky thing to get out, but it turned out not to be when everyone’s attention was elsewhere,” he continued.

After he had finished with the salve, they began cooking the rabbits he’d brought. Claire knew their time together would be short, but she was determined to make the best of it. God knew when she would see him next. In the pocket of quiet security they found themselves in, they spoke genially for the first time about simple mundane day to day things, the hyper survival mode they had been in for days finally giving way to a more human companionability between them. Jamie gave her a quick tutorial on how to set up a simple yet effective snare, how to shield her fire and how to use what little fishing line he had, while Claire gave him the salve she’d used for his burn wound with a promise to make him more when she could and how to clean his cuts and scrapes with whatever alcohol he had.

They tried hard to steer clear of the subjects of his uncles - at least for one night - but Claire couldn’t keep from thinking about her own.

“When my uncle did not return I went looking for him,” she confided in Jamie, “I had been traveling to the neighbouring villages to see if I could find any word of him. I had only just returned to the village, intending to stay a few days, resupply and head back out, when your uncle’s horde struck,” she finished quietly.

“You say your uncle left with the Earl of that place?” She nodded. “Do you by chance know why my uncle’s been raiding?”

“Only the rumors that there had been some sort of fracture between the brothers,” she replied.

“You could say that. Over the years, Dufgall grew tired of serving Kalman, resented the fact that he was the conqueror while Kalman got the distinction of ‘Earl’ - without having to ever leave Kattegat - and he only the title of war chief. He believes himself the true Earl. When the brothers fought, Dufgall left with those few men loyal to him to build himself a war party big enough to eventually take on Kattegat. Meanwhile, Kalman called on all the Earls still loyal to him to Kattegat to swear fealty to him. I believe Dufgall got wind of this and has been raiding any hamlet whose Earl left for Kalman’s Gathering. Your uncle may very well be there now.”

Claire sat back and stared at the berserker. If what he said was true and Lamb really was in Kattegat, perhaps it really had been fate to meet the berserker all along. Then a thought struck her.

“But if Dufgall left with those loyal to him…” she saw understanding settle in his eyes.

“You wonder why I am with his party? With the brothers relationship in turmoil, Kalman asked me to. He offered me my freedom in exchange of gaining Dufgall’s favor,” he said, poking at the fire. “Kalman may get the reputation of being ruthless and unforgiving, but he’s fair - diplomatic - when he needs to be. It’s Dufgall that has an unquenchable thirst for blood. He has always been the hand that brutally wielded the sword - with pleasure - for Kalman. I thought accepting Kalman’s offer and getting out of Kattegat would be my best chance of slipping away on my own terms. But it is has been… tricky,” he finished, giving her a surprisingly cheeky grin.

Claire let out a sigh, she’d been unable to take her eyes off him all night, wanting to take in every detail before he left. “You live a very complicated life, berserker,” she said with a sad smile.

“Not by choice, I can assure you,” he replied, his smile broadening.

The next few weeks had been a trial of perseverance. Of strength of will. The supplies Jamie had brought Claire had made a world of difference, allowing her the ability to move with more confidence and freedom, and most of all, keeping the cold at bay. As the days went by, she became more adept at setting up the snares Jamie had taught her and while she’d been as yet unsuccessful at handling the fishing line, she’d been able to catch a fair few squirrels with the snare giving her a sense of pride she didn’t know she could have.

She saw the berserker sporadically. Only able to get away under the guise of going hunting, he had only been able to stay just a few hours at a time when he did find her. But they were hours she’d come to cherish and she knew he had too. She’d see the tension leave his shoulders whenever he saw her, see the light touch his eyes when she made him smile. His language too, which - even though had been fluent - had been heavy, labored and carried on odd formality to it from disuse, had begun to regain some of its ease, hints of his former accent cutting through the years to self training to forget. And as always, when it came time to part once more, she felt the reluctance in him to do so. It always filled her with a sadness to see him leave. He’d become far more than just her rescuer, he’d become her friend. 

Claire found herself watching the tiny campfires in the valley below each night, unable to stop herself from wondering if the berserker too was looking up.

It had been well over a week since she’d last seen the berserker. And while she’d become quite capable at fending for herself, she missed his company, his laughter, the way he wrinkled his nose at her but still ate what edible plants she found. Her ears were constantly alert, always hoping to hear those telltale signs of his approach. But none came. With each passing day, hour, minute, her worry rose.

The mountain pass had begun to narrow as Jamie said it would, and urged her to be on her guard when it did so. She still had the higher ground, but she was close enough to their camp that if the wind blew just right, she could catch a clash of steel or rough howl or whiff of roasting meat. 

She’d chosen to camp in a small cavity in the mountain - not really a cave, but enough of a shelter from the elements as she could find. A light rain shower had been falling all day, which in turn made finding any sort of dry wood for her fire near impossible, forcing her to huddle as best she could in her tiny shelter, eating a cold dinner of what little reserves she had in her pack.

As the rain lulled her into a doze, she heard an ungainly crashing coming towards her. Claire pulled out her knife and sat as still as she could, barely trusting a breath to be quiet enough. As much as she wanted to call out for Jamie, she knew he’d never make such a racket. Agitated voices rose as the men - two men by her guess - got closer.

Stay or flee?! She debated with herself as the Norsemen came into view. There were a few low bushes in between her and them, but it was still piss poor cover. As she considered whether the now downpour and thunder would be enough to mask any noise she’d make should she move, she caught snippets of their conversation.

“Are you sure he came this way?” the tall, gangly one said, voice rough and grating in that foreign tongue of theirs.

“No, but we’ve looked everywhere else,” the other answered, his long, matted hair plastered to his brutish face.

“He’s probably headed back to camp by now. No one is doing any hunting in this weather.”

“If we go back without him-”

“If he gets back without us…”

They stood staring at each other, weighing their options. Neither option seemed all that appealing to either of them, the tall one started walking around, unable to think while standing still. As he did so a flash of lightning illuminated the little area and he caught a glimpse of Claire, crouched with arms outstretched, her knife clasped in both hands. They both let out unbecoming yelps, the tall man however, regaining his composure faster than Claire could. The brutish one turned at once and saw her too, both men immediately moved slowly to flank her.

“Well, hello,” said the brute, walking with forced casualness to her left.

“What is a beautiful thing like you doing out here, alone, on a night such as this,” said the tall one, moving to her right.

Claire stood from her crouch, pointing her knife from one to the another and back again. “Stay back!” she shouted with as much authority she could muster - which wasn’t much. Between shivers of cold and fear, her voice shook uncontrollably.

“We are not going to hurt you,” the tall one said, getting closer. She slashed through the air at him, keeping him at bay.

“No, no, no. We won’t hurt you. But if we take you back for the Earl. A gift in apology for losing the boy…” the brute sneered and made to grab her arm.

She swung wildly and felt the impact of her blade coming in contact with him, leaving a long gash in his forearm as he raised his hand to block her strike, knocking the knife from her hand in the process.

“Why you little…” he grunted furiously, pulling his own blade from it’s sheath and pointed it her, then added indignantly to his friend, “she nicked me!”

“Oh, you are going to regret that, I’m afraid,” the tall one said.

“No…” a deep voice growled from the darkness.

It was simultaneously the most frightening and the most comforting thing Claire had ever heard in her life. She felt rather than saw him nimbly move behind the tall man, who was nowhere near as towering a presence as her berserker and in one unsettlingly swift and fluid motion, Jamie wrapped his arm around the tall man’s head yanking it backwards, slitting his throat from ear to ear, before sending the bloodied dagger whistling through the air and right into the brute’s neck, before either of the men could so much as take a breath at his sudden appearance.

“…You will,” Jamie said, voice devoid of any feeling as their dead weight crashed to the ground at the same time.

The Berserker - Part 4

A/N: The slight change of names given to Jamie’s Viking side of the family are the closest Norse approximations (that I could find) to their Scots names.

- Part 1. Part 2. Part 3.

Part 4.

 “I was sixteen years old when I came here. When I was brought here,” he began hesitantly. “My family had been feuding for longer than I had been alive. Ever since my parents met. My mother Elin was a shield maiden, part of her brother Dufgall’s raiding party. They landed in Scotia - Scotland,” he said the word so fondly, Claire had to swallow the lump that had risen in her throat. “And began raiding what little villages they could find. Finally, to protect their people and land, the Lairds of Scotland held a great Gathering to try and come to terms with the Norsemen; To ensure a stop to the bloodshed and bring peace, they were willing to part with portions of what fertile land they had for the Norsemen to settle on. And should the Norsemen choose to journey further south beyond their lands, they would not interfere.”

Claire had heard of the Great Gathering. It was hard to find anyone who had not. The stories of war and death in the North were legendary. And the stuff of nightmares.

“On the night of the Gathering though, my mother met my father - a soon-to-be Laird of a great Clan. They fell in love at first sight and in the dead of night, stole away together. They risked everything to be together, risked the very treaty itself. But the then leader of the Norseman party and eldest of my mother’s brothers,” he paused, unsure how to go on without scaring her. He swallowed heavily, “Kalman, the Boneless,” Jamie felt her stiffen, she knew the name, “Earl at the time of a loosely united Norse kingdom - who rarely traveled such long distances - had journeyed to Scotland for the Gathering and chose to overlook what he saw as his sister’s disobedience, in exchange for any sons they may have. My grandfather agreed to this - unbeknownst to my parents at the time.” He let out a long sigh, his eyes fixed on the cave’s ceiling. “My parents soon found out though and vowed to keep any sons they had secret. And for the most part, the men and women of my father’s clan were loyal to the death for him and not his callous father, never breathing a word of not only one son, but two.” He went quiet then, his throat bobbing furiously as he tried to swallow whatever emotions the telling had conjured for him.

“How did they find about you?” Claire asked, voice cracking with disuse. He looked at her then, the first time he had since beginning his story. His eyes brimmed with heartbreak.

“When William - my brother - turned sixteen, my parents invited a famous bard to sing at the celebration. They did not know he was popular amongst the Norsemen as well. Word got out that the Fraser laird’s boy had come of age. It was two years before my uncle came round to our place. By that time I was turning sixteen. It was my uncle’s intention to take us both, but Willie would not have it. He… fought back. He was willing to go with them, but only if they left me. They struck him down where he stood.”

Claire took his hands in hers and didn’t bother to stop that tear that rolled down her cheek. “I am so sorry, Jamie,” she said, and his face changed then, going softer than it had been all day.

“You know, I haven’t heard my name being said with such genuine kindness since I left home? Or at all for that matter,” he said a little surprised, squeezing her hands in return. “My uncle gave my parents an ultimatum that night: Give me up and maintain the peace treaty that stood between the two families - between the Clans and Norsemen - or bury two sons that night and bring all out war to the lands that had known peace for the better part of 20 years.”

The night had hushed, as if it too had been listening to the berserker’s tale, a light wind whistled past the cave mouth the only sound around them.

“And so, here you are,” Claire said sadly.

“And so here I am…” he echoed.

The morning dawned frigidly cold, their fire having burnt down to sad little embers. Claire stirred, coming slowly to the surface of consciousness to realize she’d curled up against the berserker’s side like a kitten, his indescribable warmth the only thing between her and freezing to death.

He’d been physically and emotionally exhausted by the time they’d finished talking that he just simply lay down by the fire and slept. They hadn’t much clothes between them and the damp cold in the cave must have made them snap together like magnets - not that she was complaining. She was glad to share what warmth they could.

She watched him sleep for a few minutes and even though he slept with his dagger clenched tightly in his hand, his face had eased into a quiet calm. What had it taken for him to confide his true identity to her? For she had no reason to disbelieve him. She felt beyond doubt his words to be true. He took no pride in the telling, no eagerness in claiming his fraught identity. She found she did not fear for herself in the knowing of who he was, but for him and the double edged sword he stood upon. And as much as his story was overwhelming, she knew it was by no means complete.

He began to stir, the early morning rustling of animals outside their cave bringing him fully out of a light sleep. He turned his head slowly towards her and was startled to see her awake and watching him, but at once the look of startlement was replaced by one of comfort.

“Did you sleep well?” He asked, voice still heavy with sleep.

“Not at all,” she said honestly. “You?”

He stretched out, letting out a groan as his joints popped. “Better than I have in a very long time,” he replied, much to her surprise.

Her stomach suddenly growled unbecomingly, making Jamie laugh - a pleasant rumble that sent a shiver down her spine - and she realized the last time she’d eaten anything was at breakfast the day before.

“Don’t you laugh!” she said, smiling despite herself.

He sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eye and ruffled his hair roughly. “I’ll go get us something to eat,” he said, still laughing lightly, “get the fire going again?” She nodded as he bustled off.

A while later, Claire had finally gotten a respectable fire crackling as Jamie returned with two fish in hand.

“It isn’t much, but it’ll do for now,” he shrugged apologetically.

They went about preparing the fish in a companionable silence. Neither one ready to face the looming unknown ahead of them. A future that held no guarantees, no security, but a darkness they were yet to find a way to navigate through. Whether together or separately, their lives stood precariously in the balance.

They dawdled when it finally came time to leave their temporary refuge, taking far longer than was strictly necessary. Jamie irritably stomped the fire out and watched as Claire rummaged through her medicine box for a third time.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, bringing her attention back to him. “My uncle’s group is starting preparations to head back to Kattegat today. The journey will be long and slow, perhaps taking up to two moons to get back there. But your best chance of getting back to your land - to safety - is through Kattegat. If we’re careful, I think I can get you there.”

“Will there be a party ready to sail this late in the year? And I honestly do not wish to travel with your band, Jamie…” she finished hesitantly, the residual fear from the day before rising up once more.

He shook his head, “no, not this late in the season, the earliest anyone will risk the journey across the water is next spring. And you won’t be traveling with us, I will not risk my uncle ever knowing of you. You will travel parallel to us. I know every inch of this land as if it were my own,” he said, cold and cheerlessly.

In seven years, he’s never viewed this place as home, she thought, same as I.

“I can guide you through passes that will be unencumbered by my uncle’s men,” he continued, “I cannot tell you it will be a safe journey, because it will not be, but at least it is better than traveling the land blind.”

She stood staring at him for a long time. He was risking so much for her and she could not understand why. Why her in amongst the hundreds he had undoubtedly come across. She didn’t have time to ask for he’d already started mapping out the first leg of the route she was to take, with the promise of seeing her within a day or two with some much needed supplies. She was roughly familiar with the areas he described but none of the hidden spots he pointed out.

Within an hour they’d both set off in opposite directions; Jamie back towards his uncle’s camp, Claire - with Jamie’s dagger in hand - set off towards the mountain passes, with only the breath of a hope she would ever see the berserker again.

The Berserker - Part 3

- Part 1. Part 2.

Part 3.

 “Stick to the shallows of the riverbank,” her uncle had told her once, “best way to leave no tracks. It’ll be slow, but you will not leave any trace in your wake.”

So Claire trudged through the shallows of the creek, her flimsy shoes soaked through and feeling twice as heavy. But the berserker had warned her to leave no tracks, as best she could. It slowed her down and every snap of twig and rustle of branch made her heart leap from her chest. She finally spotted the outcrop the berserker had described. And her heart sank. What he had failed to mention when describing the jagged rock, was the 50 foot drop she had to traverse around.

“Bastard…” she whispered.

She was soaked through, her feet feeling raw from being in the icy water for hours, her fingertips completely numb. She stood there debating whether it had been worth believing the berserker. As far as she could tell, he hadn’t lied. There were the thorn bushes and the jagged outcrop. Would she really doubt there was a path hidden behind, now?

With one final nervous look over her shoulder, she took a steadying breath and made her way to outcrop. The sheer drop made her dizzy. One wrong foot placement and… No, she wouldn’t - couldn’t - think of that now. She needed cover, she needed a moment to feel safe and getting to that cave was her best option right now.

She gingerly grasped the rock, finding safe purchase for her fingers and feet. Slowly, very slowly, she moved inch and excruciating inch around the cliff face.

“Breathe, Beauchamp, just breathe,” she told herself repeatedly.

She sank to her knees when she’d finally made it round, her fingers digging into the earth, every inch of her body shaking uncontrollably. Sure enough though, when she’d mastered her emotions and heart rate, she looked up to see a sliver of a path leading to a small cave opening. She hurriedly made her way to it, pausing only a moment to grab a log nearby and throw a few rocks inside, making sure there wasn’t anything already in there. A few bats flew out making her scream like a banshee, waving her log erratically over her head. Once the coast was clear, she finally settled down inside, feeling like she could breathe for the first time that day.

“Do not light a fire,” the berserker had said. “Easy for you to say,” she murmured. As cold as it was, she wouldn’t have been able even if she wanted to. She had no kindling, no flint, no way of keeping herself at all warm, but if it meant having a few hours of safety, she’d gladly sit in the unforgiving dank cold. She curled up at the back of the cave, knees tightly clenched to her chest and watched the cave’s entrance. It had become near pitch black outside. There would be no moon tonight.

She was woken from a fretful sleep by a hand on her ankle that sent her careening off the wall, her still clutched log swinging wildly.

And indignant “Ouch!” and string of curses cut through the darkness.

“Jamie?” she asked tentatively, pausing her frantic assault.

“Yes, dammit!” he said, sitting down with a thump at her feet.

“You really need to stop sneaking up on me,” she chided.

“I did not sneak, woman, I called your name a few times but you did not answer. I was worried you had frozen to death,” he answered, and she could hear the worry in his voice.

“Yes, well, I’m not dead. Just sleeping,” she said defensively. She couldn’t really see him in the dark, in fact he just looked like a huge black lump, but could hear his labored breathing and exhausted sighs. “Are you alright?”

“Aside from almost just getting brained,” he said, faux irritation lacing his words, “I’ll do.”

She let out a breath of a laugh and blindly reached for him. She felt him tense as her arms came round his shoulders and at once relax as her body came into contact with his, as she gave him a fierce hug.

“Thank you,” she whispered, voice cracking, “I didn’t get a chance to say it earlier, but thank you for all you did for me today.”

His arm snaked around her, holding her gently. They held each other so for a long time, their bodies truly calming for the first time that day under the feel of the comforting touch. She shifted slightly, her knee brushing his side accidently, making him hiss and the sudden flash of memory raced through her.

“Your wound,” she said, pulling away, her hands grasping his shoulders. She couldn’t see past her own nose in the cave’s darkness.

“I’ve dealt with it,” he tried to assure her.

“Light a fire,” she ordered. She needed to see. To see him.

“We cannot, it’s too dange-”

“A small one. No one can see the cave’s mouth from beyond the thorn bushes. Now, please, just light one.”

He sighed, grumbling to himself as he got to his feet and lumbered outside to get what he’d need. He came back a few minutes later and had no trouble getting a fire going. The cave came to life under the tiny flames, throwing eerie shadows all around them, but Claire had eyes only for the berserker.

“Why must you always be covered in blood?” she asked sadly, as she moved toward him and lifted his shirt.

“Can’t be helped, I’m afraid,” he replied, shutting his eyes and leaning back, letting her do as she would.

Her breath caught in her throat. “What have you done?” It was a purely rhetorical question. She knew exactly what he’d done and couldn’t believe it. Where the long gaping gash once was, was now charred, blackened skin, covered in angry red blisters the length of his side just below his ribcage. He’d sealed it with an extremely hot blade. “Did you do this yourself?”

“Aye,” he simply said.

They looked at each other for a long time, his blue eyes piercing through her. She couldn’t fathom how anyone would be able to sit through something so painful, let alone being able to do it yourself. And judging by the relative neatness of the burn, he had sat as still as a statue as he did it too.

“I have a salve that will ease the sting and tightness,” she said quietly, her knees going weak under the intensity of his gaze. She saw him shake himself slightly, pulling himself back to the present. He nodded and she pulled her medicine box towards her. With the lightest of touches, she began to apply the most horrendously smelling salve he’d ever come across. He wrinkled his nose, making her laugh. “I know, I know, but it works like a charm.”

She worked in silence for a few minutes, the question she had been aching to ask him from first they met burning through her. She heard him sigh, he’d shut his eyes again when she’d started her ministrations.

“I can hear you thinking. Out with it,” he said tiredly.

She smiled despite herself. She finished applying the salve and began tending to the small nicks and scrapes she could see. Without looking at him, she asked, “Will you tell me who you are?”

He turned his head away towards the cave’s entrance, his lips pressed together.

“You speak my tongue, you got me out of the village. Why would you risk yourself for someone you don’t even know?” she pressed on.

“I told you, I just needed to save one person if I could. I had - have - seen enough bloodshed. I just needed…” he let out a sigh.

“Jamie,” she said gently and took his hand in hers. “Look at me, please.” He slowly turned to look at her, eyes sad and heavy with guilt. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

“I do not want to put you in any more harm than I already have! And the knowing of it… Claire,” the way he said her name sent a shiver down her spine, “the knowing of it will put you right in the path of the danger I wish to spare you from.”

“I think it’s far too late for that,” she said smiling back at him, but he shook his head.

“I had not thought passed getting you out of the village. I don’t know what to do now.”

She put her hand over his racing heart. “You share the burden, that is what you do. As I did with you when I trusted you today to keep me safe. Now you can trust me to keep you safe.”

Jamie brought his hand to cover hers where it rested on his chest and squeezed it tightly.

“Seven years ago, I was taken from my home and brought here as part of a peace treaty between my father and uncles. A peace treaty that now hangs in the balance once more, as war threatens to break out between my uncles.”

The Berserker - Part 2

- Part 1.

Part 2.

 He rushed them both through the village, roughly handling her whenever any man from his uncle’s party saw them. The more they thought she was his to do with as he pleased, the less questions they would ask. His rough handling was not at all being appreciated by the woman though, who had started fighting against his grip. Pulling her to him, he whispered harsher than he meant to, “Stop it, will ye! They are watching us!”

“Then shouldn’t fighting you be precisely what I should be doing?!” she hissed back, her hand coming free of his, she dragged her nails deeply into the flesh of his neck, leaving three nasty looking gouges. She saw the corner of his mouth twitch.

“Perhaps,” he said wryly, recapturing her hand neatly. Then suddenly, he yanked her to him, wrapping his arms round her waist, lifting her off her feet and pinned her to a cottage wall - her nose an inch from his, just as a group of men went by. “But maybe a little less fighting and a little more screaming? Or shall I just throw you over my shoulder?” he said into her ear. He was shielding her from view once more, she realized. He was also warm and surprisingly gentle. By all appearances to anyone looking, he seemed to be manhandling her, but in truth, his arms weren’t holding her captive, but just simply holding her.

She looked him straight in the eye then, and saw a teasing glint in them. How can he tease at a moment like this? she thought, trying to hide a smile.

“No,” she replied him flatly.

He bent his head, burying it in her neck and asked, “Are they gone?”

Her eyes quickly scanned the area around them. “I think so, yes,” she quietly replied.

He put her down without ceremony suddenly, her legs almost giving way beneath her. They moved swiftly, the air thick with smoke and the smell of blood and fear. There was an eerie silence over the village now, snippets of disembodied screams piercing the quiet.

They made it to the treeline unhindered. His grip on her arm relaxing finally as they reached the safety of cover. He did a quick sweep of the area, making sure they were indeed alone before gripping his midriff and sinking onto a fallen log.

“We’re safe for the moment,” he said wincing, “We have a little time to decide what to do next.”

Instinctively, she knelt in front of him, pulling his hands away from the wound. He let her do as she would, watching as she frowned and prodded the edges of it. “Decide what? It’s simple; I patch you up, you head back to your group, and I get away from here as fast and as far as bloody possible.” Her fingers shook, but her touch was light and gentle, his skin interrupting in goosebumps in the wake of it. “Damn. I can’t do this like this,” she gestured at her blood stained hands, “I need my things to tend to you properly.”

“And how do you suggest we get your things?” he said a little irritably, “and it isn’t that simple.”

She sat back on her heels, looking up at him; even covered in blood as he was, she could still see how pale he’d become. And just how tired. “What do you mean?” she asked, helping him sit on the ground, back braced against the log.

“This isn’t all the men in our band. We broke up into four groups and spread through the land. Chances of ye not running into one of them is slim at best.”

“Right, and there isn’t anyone else like you here. I see.”

“Aye.” he grimaced.

She looked at him for a long moment, a look of blank shock written on her features. “Aye?”

“Your things,” he said not meeting her eye. “Where are they?”

She realized whatever it was he’d just revealed, he hadn’t meant to and as much as she wanted to probe him about it further, she could see he needed tending more than her curiosity needed satisfying. She explained exactly where she’d been staying and what her medicine box itself looked like, and with a terse “I’ll be right back”, he was off crashing through the foliage back to the village.

For the first time since the melee broke out, Claire finally caught her breath. Her legs giving way completely, she sunk to the ground, pressing her palms to the mildew covered grass trying to stop herself from shaking. It was no use - the screams still echoed in her mind. She closed her eyes and urged herself to take one slow breath at a time. The young berserker would be back soon and would need her. Need her to be calm and steady.

As her mind began to settle, thoughts of their conversation replayed themselves. He was unlike anyone she’d met in this strange place. And while she hadn’t seen him kill anyone, she couldn’t deny the fact that he was covered in blood - not all his own - from splatters across his right cheek and clothes, to his drenched blade from the morning’s mayhem. Yet he’d held her so gently, with quiet strength, yes, but never with cruelty.

Then there was his speech; had she imagined it? There were but a handful who spoke her tongue, but none so fluently. He had a lilt to his accent though. “Aye,” he’d said, or rather, slipped. She’d heard that only the one time, in only the one place, while travelling with her Uncle - Scotland. 

Could he possibly be? But how?

He stomped through the trees, annoyed with himself. How could he have been so reckless? Letting his guard down so? He had been so careful for so long, taught himself how to hide behind a blank mask of indifference, to hide what and who he truly was. So why now, had he slipped? And so naturally, without a second thought till the words had left his lips.

He felt lightheaded, the morning’s adrenaline wearing off, yet his blood still fizzed. He could still feel her touch on him. Her fingers had shook, but not from fear of him, he thought. Or rather hoped. He tried to shake off the memory, to put up his veil of indifference as he entered the village, but he didn’t have to; the other men had eyes only for their plunder. He rushed through the crowds with her words, and touch, still echoing in his mind.

She’d finally calmed down, moving to and fro walking off her nerves, snippets of clatters and cries carried on the uneven wind blowing through the trees. She hadn’t heard him come back into her small clearing till he was right behind her and whispered in her ear, “You really need to pay more attention to your surroundings.”

Birds in the nearby flora indignantly scattered in all directions at the shriek she let out, half muffled by his hand clapping over her mouth. “It’s me,” he whispered, his other hand - still carrying her medicine box - wrapped round her waist as she made to bolt, “It’s me, it’s me.” He felt her body yield at his words and reluctantly let go.

She turned and thumped him on the arm, her face red with fear and irritation. “Why would you do that!” she hissed indignantly, her fist thumping into his arm again.

“Ow! Stop that!” he said, trying to grab her hand. Successful in his second attempt, he managed to wheel her about again, pinning her back to his chest, “Stop, please.”

“Don’t you sneak up on me like that again,” she huffed, but calming down. She felt an exhausted tremor go through him, then her. She turned in his arms, grasping him by the waist, her hands steadying him. He was dead on his feet. “Sit down,” she said hastily directing him back to the fallen tree and pulled his bloody shirt over his head before he could protest. Her breath caught in throat. This wasn’t his first battle - not by a long shot. Placing her box beside her, she began rummaging through it for what she needed. She pulled out a flask and unstoppered it, “Drink this,” she said, placing it to his lips. Thirsty, he threw back his head, gulping, but felt her pull the flask away, “Not all of it! I’ll need some to tend you.”

He watched her methodically place the needle and thread she’d been holding on her lap, then briskly pour some of the strong whisky on her hands, then drench a piece of cloth with the alcohol, swiping the gashes she’d made on his neck without warning. “I’m sorry, but this will sting a bit,” she murmured, before pouring the remaining whisky over his gaping wound. His breath hissed through his teeth, keeping his eyes tightly shut as he felt the needle pierce his skin, but he didn’t cry out.

He let his head fall back against the tree, and tried to breathe evenly, to concentrate on anything but the feeling of the needle weaving its way across his stomach.

“What’s your name?” He heard her ask, sounding further away than she actually was.

“Huh?”

“Your name. I hadn’t thought to ask before,” she said. Her voice was calm, her fingers steady.

“Jamie,” he replied.

“Claire.”

Sorcha? he thought instantly. A word that formed like mist in his memory, in a tongue half forgotten.

“How did you come to be here, Claire?” he asked quietly, watching her face, intent on the task before her.

“I could ask you the same thing,” she said, a smile creeping in the corners of her lips. “Something tells me you’re a long way from home.”

He laughed, it was no more than a breath, but a laugh all the same. “I could say the same for you, no?”

She looked up to see his cheeky grin touch his eyes. She’d never seen anything so blue, despite fatigue lining every inch of his face and body, his gaze was sharper than the blade he’d held in his hand. But more than anything, there was deep curiosity. One that matched her own.

“My uncle,” she began haltingly, “was a scholar. He had the keeping of me ever since I was a young girl and took me with him when he traveled. But one day, we ventured too far. In his eagerness to traverse the land we lived, in search of an old monastery, we stumbled upon a rabble camp much like your own band.”

As she spoke, her fingers moving deftly, her voice lulled him, eased his pounding heart and the buzzing in his ears. He felt his body uncoil beneath her ministrations.

“As luck would have it, my uncle spoke their tongue, convinced them to spare us and in exchange we’d share his skills as a scholar and mine as a healer. We journeyed with them, over sea and land, finally settling here in the village.”

“Ye say ‘was’ when you speak of him. Is he… Not with you anymore?” He asked. She paused her stitching a moment, her downcast face hidden behind a storm of curls.

“He left with the Earl of this place. Four moons ago. I haven’t seen or heard from him nor the Earl and his men since.” She wiped a stray tear off the tip of her nose with the back of her hand, before continuing her task.

“I’m sorry,” the berserker said, taking her hand in his, wound forgotten. She looked at him then and saw a sadness in his eyes that matched her own.

“And you, Berserker? How do come to be here?”

He smiled and looked far younger than she initially thought him to be. But as he opened his mouth to reply, a piercing yell came from the direction of the village, making them both jump.

“JAMIE!” came a man’s unforgiving voice.

The berserker shot to his feet, ripping the stitches from his side.

“What are you doing?!” Claire hissed at him, trying to grab at his hands to stop him.

“Ifrinn! They can not see this!” he hissed back, “or they will know I’ve been tended to!”

“Then why did you let me-”

He took her by the shoulders, shaking her slightly. Once he had her attention, he held it best he could as the harsh male voice started getting closer.

“Listen to me, Claire! There is a cave north of here. Follow the creek and you’ll come upon a mass tangle of thorn bushes,” she began to argue, but he shook her again, “listen! There’s a wee path to the left of the thorn bushes hidden behind an outcrop of jagged rock. Be careful going round this for the footing is perilous. Get to the cave and hide. Do not light a fire, do not leave a trail. Wait for me, I will find you!”

“I can’t leave you, not with an open wound!” she said, fear gripping her so fiercely it threatened to double her over.

“Do not fret for me, I’ll be fine! Now go!” he said pushing her in the direction she needed to go. “Don’t look back!”

She grabbed her box and ran then, crashing through the brush, the sound of agitated male voices catching on the wind behind her, her heart beating so painfully in her chest, she feared it would stop altogether.

But she didn’t look back.