Chapter 2
TO CONDEMN US BOTH
The apartment Claire had rented while living in Edinburgh was nothing special. It could be a nice place if someone took the time to make it so, but Claire had no desire to. Her coming here was only supposed to be a temporary thing. She was to be posted to a hospital in London but they'd sent her here instead since there was a huge lack of nursing staff at the time. That had been almost a year ago now, and Claire had accepted she would probably be here until the war ended, whenever that would be. Which is why she took no time to pretty up the home she'd acquired here, fearing she might get too comfortable. She was unable to do anything without Frank and that was the only thing pushing her through the long, lonely hours. That one day this war would end and she could return to her life with Frank and build a home with him.
Her walk to the hospital was dampened by oncoming mist, weather she had since realised was native to the country of Scotland. While Edinburgh was a beautiful city with a wonderful mix of medieval architecture and held the beauty of untouched countryside further north, Claire could not wait until she could finally go home. Her current circumstance left her unable to appreciate the goodness around her. Still, she was lucky. Living in London at the time of World War II was unthinkable, where the looming threat of German bombings was almost constant.
Not many knew of Jamie MacTavish quite yet, the huge warrior Scotsman was still hidden away in one of the tiny rooms of the hospital which made Claire feel like she was guarding a very dark secret. On her way in she had managed to catch Matron on one of the wards, back to normality again and shouting at every nurse in sight. Claire was able to relay the message that the mysterious Scotsman, while still mysterious, was not as much a threat as they had first believed him to be. Of course, Claire could not be completely certain of this, but if she wanted to understand him any better it was wiser to do it without the fear of Matron suspiciously sniffing around under her feet.
"Good morning, Mr MacTavish." Claire said as soon as she opened the door to the stuffy side room and found Jamie sitting up and awake, waiting probably for someone to come and tell him what on earth was going on.
"What in God's name are ye wearing, lass?" Where the first words that fell out of his mouth and he looked at her with his nose turned up in distaste.
"What?" Claire was quite astonished at this outburst and a nervous, breathy laugh ensued.
"I can see half yer legs woman!" Somehow, he seemed significantly angry.
"What's wrong with it?" Claire demanded, turning to try and find a large stain or something on the sort on her sky blue dress with a white apron across the front and a large red cross on her right breast. "It's my uniform."
"Aye, do you English have uniforms for pissing too?" Came his sly remark, and then he caught himself and his face turned rather serious and apologetic. "I'm sorry, lass. I dinna mean to speak so boldly in front of a lady such as yourself."
"That's quite all right." Claire laughed, moving to try and get some light into the small room, though it was fruitless. The little barred window let in virtually no light seeing as this room wasn't supposed to be used as a bedroom but rather for storage, but the hospital was much too crowded. Not to mention the dismal sky outside meant rarely any light was to be let in anyway.
"How are you feeling? A little worse for wear, I imagine." Claire asked, turning to address him finally.
"Aye, I'm a wee bit sore, but I dinna feel as sickly." He explained. Apart from the fact he had a bullet wound in his shoulder and had suffered a dislocation, all under a burning fever yesterday, he did look rather well.
"That'll be the anti-biotics working their magic then." Claire nodded with a smile, before lifting the dark brown bottle from her pocket and popping the lid off with sufficient ease.
"Anti-bi-what now, sassenach?" Came his reply, and Claire looked up to find him wearing that muddled face again, to which she laughed.
"Anti-biotics. They help fight infection..." This was going nowhere. "They help you get better!" His face lightened at last, finally understanding. This man only proved to get stranger as the days went on.
"You're going to need to take two of these now, and then I can give you some breakfast." The medication was to be prescribed before meals, otherwise he could've eaten before now.
Claire proceeded to hand him two of the little pills and he looked at them quizzically.
"I'm to eat these wee beads, then?" He examined them carefully, as though she'd asked him to swallow two silver bullets.
"Yes." Claire replied, pouring him a glass of water from the side table and handing it to him promptly. "Take them with water, they'll be easier to swallow." Never did she had to explain the taking of tablets before, but she supposed there was a first to everything.
"Now, for your breakfast. What would you like?" She asked, as he accepted the water with caution and looked at her, before taking a small sip.
"I wouldn't recommend anything too heavy... We have toast, porridge, corn flakes..."
"Corn flakes?" His face screwed up again in disgust and he glared at her now, two pills in one hand a glass of water in the other. "What are they?"
"It's a cereal. Surely you've heard of corn flakes?" This was definitely a first. Had this man just crawled out from under a rock? There was a war on, but this was ridiculous.
"Flakes of corn? And you eat it for breakfast?" Jamie couldn't seem to understand this, she could tell the notion of eating what he had just described was making his stomach turn.
"Well no, they're toasted flakes of corn... You eat them with milk." She explained.
Jamie however was not the slightest bit convinced and eyed her now with a terrible look of disgust, before he shook his head with a definite refusal, having made his mind up. "I think I'll just have the porridge, if ye don't mind." He said with apprehension.
"All right then." Claire said, turning and frowning to herself at how bizarre this man proved to be. "And eat those pills!" She demanded as she stopped at the door, before leaving the room to go and find this Jamie MacTavish some porridge.
Jamie ate as though he hadn't had a proper meal in weeks, and given the gaunt outlines of the cheekbones on his face, Claire reckoned he could do with some building up. After his breakfast he talked a while, asking questions about his injuries and complaining about the bandage when Claire took a moment to check them, all thankfully healing nicely. Afterwards, he grew quite drowsy and was asleep in no time, snoring in peaceful oblivion to which Claire couldn't help but smile at. Whoever this man was, he had clearly been through some ordeal.
Claire spent her morning helping out on the wards as usual, luckily there was nothing of great importance that needed her immediate attention aside from the usual wound dressing and medication administration. After a great load of troops had been taken down the previous week, she supposed things might settle, until the next bombing of course and then another load of sick and dying officers would be sent into their care. But for now, they would have a slight reprieve.
The west side of the hospital was a bit chipper. It was filled with soldiers on the mend and who hoped soon to be leaving them. The wards were usually full of laughter as men talked among themselves and played card games and the sort. Men in striped pyjamas in wheelchairs with plaster casts around their limbs glided through the halls as some of the nurses gave them a turn about in the garden for some fresh air. It seemed the west wing was a complete world away from the place which Claire had just come, from dire emergencies and blood to laughter and a general feeling of optimism.
Claire felt a calmness as she walked through the wards with her clipboard checking on the many soldiers, to make sure all of them where taking the proper medication. She was a familiar sight around here and the chaos of chattering men, mostly with cockney accents was a refreshing change from all the Scottish.
Before long it was mid afternoon and Claire thought it best to go and check on Mr MacTavish who was likely bored out of his mind. Perhaps it would be best to bring something along to help coax some information out of him, and she knew just the thing, even if Matron might think it unwise, she didn't have to know.
"It truly is magnificent." Claire commented as her fingers swept up the breadth of the longsword that she'd taken from Matron's office. It was an impressive blade, no doubt about it, but she couldn't help but wonder why on earth anyone would need to use one now and it was easy to see at first glance that this was a weapon that had seen many years of use, while being centuries old. The blade itself was dim and the edge perhaps a little blunt, not to mention the dirt that had found it's way into the swirls of Celtic engravings and the leather hilt was worn with use and a bit flaky.
"Isna mine. Dougal gave me it when he came to take me to Leoch, always best to be armed ye ken, especially a man like-" He cut himself off from going further. "Nevermind." He frowned, pulling his eyes away from Claire's as though he was about to tell her too much.
"And who is this Dougal?" Claire asked, trying to take his mind off it. Whatever deep secret this Jamie MacTavish was guarding, it could wait.
"My uncle on my mother's side. War Chieftain of the Clan McKenzie, and Colm is Laird." Jamie seemed rather proud to convey this knowledge.
"War Chieftain? Laird?" Claire tightened her lip and lifted a brow, her expression puzzled and urging him to continue. "Is there even such a thing nowadays?"
"Och!" Jamie half laughed at this, but it seemed he thought Claire rather dull for even having asked. "You English haven't wiped us out yet! Is that what yer telling people? That Scotland doesna have the Clans or Lairds and we've submitted completely? Pish!" He laughed again, waving a hand in exasperation. Claire however was none the more enlightened.
"You definitely harbour a deep hatred against the English, or so I've noticed." Claire pointed out, hoping it might push the conversation further and he'd be forced to explain whatever it was he was talking about.
"I've no a problem with them... It's they that have the issue with me!" He informed her, his brow creasing into a frown and she could tell he was rather passionate about the subject.
"Why would the English have a problem with you?" Claire asked, her tone reasonably gentle. Before she remembered something and she hesitated a moment before continuing. "Jamie has this... Has this got something to do with the scars on your back?" She could tell it was dangerous territory, the way his eyes widened and she could see the wheels turning in his head, calculating just how she knew.
"How did ye see my scars?" He asked, but she could tell he already knew the answer.
"When I dressed your shoulder. I've never seen anything like it before... I just wondered how on earth you might have got them." Claire confessed. She couldn't forget scars like that, huge welts in his skin.
"Flogging." He told her. "They flogged me twice in the space of one week. Would have done it twice in the same day if they weren't afraid of killing me."
"But, why?" Claire asked, curious to understand the circumstances which would lead to such a brutality.
"The first time was for escaping Fort William and the second was theft." He elaborated, however Claire could not understand how flogging someone would be corporal form of punishment in the twentieth century.
"Why were you escaping?" She asked.
"Obstruction." He replied with surety.
"What, obstruction? What's that? It doesn't sound like a serious crime." Claire went on, confused still as to where this tale was going.
"I suppose it's whatever the English say it is." He told her, yet she couldn't help but notice the hint of humour in his tone despite nothing being funny about the subject. Perhaps it was his way to keep things from getting too dark and heavy, she could see him recall the memory in his mind and understood that it was a painful one and not one he talked about often.
"Aye, it were some year ago now." He said, inviting her into the tale, opening up for the first time and about to reveal one of the mysteries that shrouded him.
Jamie went on to describe the events of how he had been home one day working the fields and the next down fighting English Soldiers off his sister, which they abused before tying him up and lashing him before her eyes. It was his sister who went off with one of the soldiers in fear they might kill her brother if she did not, and shamed herself because of him, or so Jamie had said.
"Next thing I knew, I was in the back of a wagon with a load of chickens for company. I didna know then that it would be the last time I'd see my sister. Havena seen her since." There was no pity in his voice for himself, but rather over the fact that he felt responsible for the torment his sister faced.
Claire felt an ache in her heart, the pity she felt for this man was unlike any other. She'd heard terrible war stories in her time, sat by the beds of dying men and wrote out their final goodbyes to their families for them. But there was something of Jamie's tale that held a great injustice, that made her angry too.
"So, the English did this to you, English soldiers?" Claire asked after a long silence, finally getting some closure on the subject.
"Aye." Jamie nodded finally.
"Jamie... What these men did to you, it's illegal. You don't have to live like this. These soldiers who tormented you for no reason, abusing your sister and then you... You can go to the police about this and they'll be-"
"Police?" Jamie squinted again.
"You know, the law - people in charge-"
"The English are in charge lass! You think that with the country being torn apart anyone would waste a second listening to me, and condemn their own for it? Don't be daft!"
While Claire wanted to argue, feeling angry and shaken herself she couldn't deny what he was saying. Any man who fought for the British Army was graced with a heroic mask, free to do as they liked. While Jamie had the scars on his back to prove his injustice, she doubted very much anyone would listen, not while the war was still going on and brutalities like this happened everyday.
"And besides... That's no the point." Jamie went on, suddenly looking as though he was brooding in anger, still unable to meet her gaze until now. He was hesitating, wondering if not to go on, if talking might muddle up his situation all the more, but at last he came out with it.
"I'm a wanted man." There it was. All Claire had been waiting on. Some dark confession, something that would be enough to carry back to Matron and seal this man's fate. But Claire wasn't triumphant at the knowledge, because this wasn't a game where someone scored points. This was a human life, a human life that Claire figured had suffered enough.
"Wanted for killing a British Soldier... Although, it wasna me done the killing but there's nothing to prove otherwise. Tell you the truth, I was too much in pain from the lashing to see straight let alone raise a sword." His blue eyes were hazed over in the memory, remembering the dark days that made him a fugitive.
"So now you understand... In part anyway. A man wanted for killing a British soldier is unlikely to win any favour with the English, no matter the wrongs they did me."
Claire could say nothing. She simply stared, still clutching the sword in her lap and her face twisted in both shock and sadness for the fate of this poor man and the injustice he faced.
Jamie's eyes moved to meet hers and he could see the sadness in them, yet he didn't see tears or hear words filled with pity alike the many reactions he received in the past. Instead he saw a resilience and a strength to see past it.
"Will you turn me in, lass? Will you go and find that big brawny woman and see me meet my fate?" And there it was, the honesty and raw feeling laid bare. Claire could take his honesty and turn him to ash in her palm, turn her heart away and watch as he was marched straight to a prison to live his life behind bars. If it had been any other soldier, perhaps she might have been able to, with a bit of anguish of course, but otherwise numb to her duty. With Jamie however, she felt something different. Despite everything in the Universe telling her otherwise, she saw a trust in his eyes and for the life of her she could not break it, she could not throw it back in his face.
"No." She said at last, knowing as soon as the words left her lips she was condemning herself. But despite herself, she lifted her hand to find his and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
"I promised to help you, and that's what I'll do." A smile found it's way onto her lips, it was soft and small and a little apprehensive. She was breaking every rule in the book, but at this moment in time she didn't seem to care.
Jamie's mouth turned up at the edges in response and he stared at her, into her golden whiskey coloured eyes, eyes of which he'd never seen the like of before. Huge and deep, the colour of honey and they glowered at him in the darkness.
At that moment, they suddenly weren't strangers anymore. Instead they were something more yet neither could decipher what and so they sat in silence, for hours. Unable to break whatever atmosphere had entrapped them in the room.
AN: Hello! Thank you all for the great feedback I have received so far with this story, I hope you enjoyed this new chapter! As always, feedback is welcomed.