Jamie dropped the knife immediately and Frank dove for it and held it to Jamie's face with his left hand as his dominant right hand was covering the bleeding cut on his cheek.

Frank lunged at him, but the Scottish warrior was well trained in battle and Jamie just barely managed to parry the blow. "Claire," he yelled, hoping to rouse her. And then to Frank, "I didna mean to. I'm verra sorry I cut ye."

Frank wouldn't accept his apology, "I don't think you're sorry yet, but you will be."


Chapter 9

The ruckus along with Jamie calling her name did wake up Claire and she struggled for a few moments to see and assess what was happening on this cloudy moonlit night.

She managed to see the knife gleaming in Frank's hand and the blood dripping off his face from behind his hand. She instantly understood the circumstances were desperate and dire. She felt guilty too; she should have anticipated that this could occur.

Frank had been wound up too tight with Brianna missing and Jamie being alive and she'd done little to deal with his emotions. She knew that Frank felt like he was losing everything and that made him a loose cannon. Even though she'd known him for years, she couldn't easily anticipate his reactions in these desperate times. Especially if he felt he had been attacked first which would make this retaliation justified and a perfect reason to exact the vengeance he wanted. However, she needed to address the very real threat of the knife first.

"Frank, please give me the knife."

"No way—this man is crazy."

"Frank, I need to see to your wound. You're bleeding."

Frank waved the knife at Jamie, "I'm going to make him bleed first."

Jamie cut in, "I'm sorry Frank. I was having another nightmare. I was reliving a bad memory and you woke me and when I saw your face over me, I just reacted."

"Black Jack again? Really?" Frank scoffed, and made no move to drop the knife. "Claire told me what he did to her and if I ever met him, I'd kill him myself for punching her and stripping her like he did. But, I'm not him and Claire told me herself that she was never under any real danger of him raping her."

"He raped me."

Frank looked confused in those initial seconds before comprehension hit. Then he understood. The unbidden image just didn't coincide with his world view. This rough, brawny, rugged Scot just could never be anyone's victim and then he realized that had been Black Jack's motivation. That man had wanted to see this mighty Scottish warrior brought low. Frank just looked shocked and struck dumb as the meaning of the words sank in.

Jamie continued, "Look, I don't like talking about it—obviously, but I'll tell you everything. I really am verra sorry that I cut ye. Please give the knife to Claire—not to me—and let her see to ye. I promise, I'll tell ye. I should've sooner considering yer resemblance, but I am still a proud man."

Frank looked to Claire for confirmation and she nodded. He switched his grip on the knife so that the blade now pointed towards the ground and handed it to her.

Claire took it, a resigned look on her face knowing that the coming conversation would be difficult for Jamie to recount. She paced to her saddlebags and got out all the medical equipment she'd put together from her visits to the apothecary, scavenged from Lallybroch, or collected on the road. She also brought the flask of whiskey. It may not have been the best liquid sustenance at the moment with tempers flaring so easily, but still some of life's most trying moments could be made more bearable with alcohol.

Claire lit a candle and asked Frank to hold it with his left hand. She then cajoled him to pry his fingers away from the cut on his face, already starting to clot. "It's deeper than I like, but it could've been far worse. The cut is about four inches long and it extends from beneath your eye to your jawline. I'll need to give you stitches and you'll likely have a permanent scar."

Frank who had been quiet since Jamie's admission now spoke, "Did Jack Randall have any scars on his face?"

Claire shook her head.

"Well, I suppose that makes us different now."

Claire could see just how much the events of tonight were affecting him, "You're a lot different from him Frank. There's no comparison, truly."

"I carry his face, people make assumptions about me that I am him or that I'm like him," Frank looked again at Jamie and addressed him, "Claire told me a little of what he did to her, but since it seemed so traumatic, I didn't want to press her to relive it."

Jamie sat still for a long moment and then took a swig of whiskey from the flask and handed it back over, "I donna like discussin' the blackguard, but ye and I have somewhat inherited each other. We might—I mean that I might do a better job to make the best of it for Claire's and Brianna's sake. And ye've inherited his appearance and ye probably got more right than most to know what with folks will be assumin' about ye. And especially now with how I've treated ye. I hope ye can forgive me." Frank stayed silent so Jamie continued, "So, Claire told ye about her dealings with him?"

Frank nodded.

"But no of mine?"

"She spoke in very broad terms about him seven years ago and I never pressed her for more. She only said he tortured you."

"Aye, I had many dealings with the man," Jamie stood up and turned around and grabbed off his shirt. "Those were the first scars he gave me from two floggings; one hundred atop one hundred." Jamie put the shirt back on and sat down again. "My father was there for the second time, but I didna see him. My back was turned. I only learned later that my father collapsed and died right there—not twenty paces behind me. Claire said it was likely something called a heart attack. For a while, my uncle Dougal would make me show the scars as evidence of British tyranny to drum up money for the Stuarts. I hated it then and I donna like showin' them now. But, yer no most people."

Frank shook his head, "No, I'm not."

Jamie turned back to the topic, "The next time I saw him was four years later with his hands all over Claire. I got her away from him, but his interest in me had…re-kindled. I was about to be hanged at Wentworth Prison and Randall stopped it. He didn't want me to have an easy death. Randall was a cat who liked to play with his prey. He wanted me to beg for my death and honestly by the time he was done with me, I was about to do it to meself."

Frank, who just minutes earlier, had wanted to hurt the man by any means possible, now had heard more than enough, "You can stop there. I don't need to hear more."

Claire had paused with the stitches. She couldn't focus during this retelling. She had disinfected the cut and stitched up enough that Frank's wound could wait for now.

"It's fine—after what I've done to ye, ye deserved to hear the full truth. Claire tried to break me out that night, but got herself caught too. Randall used that to extract a promise from me—that he would stop choking her and he would let her go if I didna resist whatere he wanted. He was determined to have my surrender."

Jamie stopped at this point; he wanted to keep his emotion in check and to act detached and objective. Frank might deserve to hear the truth, but the man hadn't earned the right to see into the deepest recesses of his soul. "Claire and me clansman were able to get me out in the mornin' by makin' a distraction and we thought we left Randall for dead, but by then he had smashed my hand with a mallet—Claire had to set nine bones, nailed my hand to a table to keep me in the cell while he took Claire out of the prison, the uh, …the buggering of course, and he'd…he'd branded me," Jamie briefly lifted his shirt, "Me kin cut it out. I couldna endure his initials on me body."

Jamie stood up and paced a few moments, "Story's almost done. A few months later, we learned he was alive and met him again in the garden of Versailles of all places. I challenged him to a duel, but Claire asked me not to fer yer sake."

Frank was stunned, "My sake?"

"She asked me to wait until after the conception that continued yer family line so ye could exist. I agreed, but it didna matter, because in the end, it was actually his brother. I broke that promise when I caught him in the act of raping a dear twelve-year-old boy who was in our care. We dueled; I injured but didn't kill him, and the stress drove Claire to have a miscarriage—our wee lass was stillborn I mean."

Although it was in Frank's presence, Jamie reached out and grabbed Claire's hand and said to her, "I ken ye think differently, but that is still a debt I owe ye."

CF-JF CF-JF CF-JF CF-JF

Although his wound was not completely mended, Frank rose up from the log he had been sitting on and paced. It registered that Fraser had taken Claire's hand, but at this point, it just wasn't worth commenting on. Frank couldn't help but notice the interaction between them, the care and consideration that underlay Jamie's willingness to endure that hell with Jack—it looked like they truly had a real marriage. Frank had to turn away.

He turned his thoughts to what Fraser had just divulged to him. Frank had felt the same way as when reports of atrocities started coming into the intelligence office during the war. This story was too horrific; his ancestor was cruel and monstrous. That man had raped a child—at least one child, he corrected; it was probably more. He wondered what he would do if anyone attempted that on Brianna. That thought coupled with the fact that she was missing and out of his protection, caused Frank to lean over and vomit into the dirt.

Frank stayed hunched over the ground for a long moment until his queasy stomach started to settle. He just wanted Brianna to be okay. He didn't even want anything for himself at the moment—just for the little girl that he had loved despite her red hair to be safe and okay.

He stood up again and almost wiped his mouth on his sleeve until he remembered that was his only shirt and his mind turned back to Jack.

Jack has caused so much pain and abused his power. Frank only knew of his actions towards Jamie, his family, and Claire. What other horrors had that…that thing…created in his wake? It left Frank bereft, rebelling against the Black Jack side of himself. He was more than his last name, more than his appearance, but also more than the milquetoast descriptions generally applied to him. He had been mulling over a decision about his future, trying to decide his way forward.

Despite his intelligence work during the war and knowing information about the worst horrors from the war for years before the public did, he still didn't understand the motivations of people like his ancestor wanting only to destroy. This was destruction through anger and arrogance, but also the active annihilation of someone's humanity. Jack probably took the military commission and assignment in Scotland solely to find people to abuse. An appointment in London wouldn't have been exciting enough for him or allowed him to indulge his sadistic compulsions to use and destroy.

Before tonight, Frank had thought of Black Jack as some dashing, adventurous rogue like Jesse James or Robin Hood. Now he understood that Jack was exactly how Fraser had described him when they first met by the haystacks—a vile rapist.

Frank walked well away from the fire; he needed to feel the cold air. He started to huddle up to protect against the cold and he wanted to fight against that instinct. He could see his breath and started shivering. Although summer, it was still cold at night in these mountains. He turned up his collar and spread his arms wide feeling the wind on his palms, which sent tingles up his arms and to his spine. He just needed to open up and accept whatever life sent his way. Fate had been incredibly kind to him these last seven years—too kind. Perhaps even better than he deserved.

CF-JF CF-JF CF-JF CF-JF

"How are you, darling" Claire asked Jamie. They were still holding hands and felt relatively able to speak freely since Frank had migrated off some distance away within his own thoughts. "That can't have been easy for you to recount—to Frank of all people since…he's Jack's descendent and considering the way things are right now between the three of us."

"I'm glad I did it though," Jamie countered, "At least it feels like there's no longer that secret between us. Aye, there's barriers and walls enough, but no longer that one." Jamie stopped and buried his face in his hands. "I must admit to ye Sassenach that me problems with Frank aren't just his resemblance to Jack Randall. The truth is I'm jealous and I'm scared. I'm scared that ye'll stay his wife and that when we find Brianna that ye and the lass will all go back through the stones."

"Jamie—," Claire started.

Jamie continued unimpeded, "That may be what the lass wants. She may no be able to like it here. I donna want her to hate me because she couldna have sugar, hot baths, and automobiles."

Claire squeezed his left hand and brought him into a tight hug with her right hand, "She will adjust, I'm sure. She's young and it will be difficult at first. She won't understand why her cousins at Lallybroch don't know about airplanes, electricity, and Snow White, but please be assured that we will work it out. I can't give you more promises yet until we find Brianna, but please know that my heart is with you. Do you remember what you said to me that day at Castle Leoch when you pledged your fealty to me?"

Jamie understood well that Claire was referencing their argument and his oath-taking to her in their bedroom after he had…disciplined…her. "We said a lot of things that day, Sassenach," Jamie replied not sure which specific statement she was implying.

Claire traced his jawline down his neck to the vee of his shirt. Her finger migrated to the part of his chest hidden by the shirt, "You said 'You're mine, mo nighean donn. Mine, now and forever.' Remember?"

Jamie had relived that moment a thousand times since then—especially in the days following Wentworth or when isolated in the cave or in the British prison after Culloden Moor.

"Aye, I do remember that very well."

Claire took his hand and put it up against her heart, flat up against her breast. "I truly felt married to you that day when you said those words—more so even than in our wedding ceremony in which I was almost too drunk to remember. I'm not sure about you, but that day was when I knew the love between us was true and that I was yours—forever. Not just in this time, but for all time. And for these past seven years, I've felt like I've been betraying that, betraying you—even though you sent me back and told me to let you go. I couldn't stop feeling that way about us. Not then. Not ever."

Jamie tried and was nearly almost successful to keep a tight rein on his emotions. He didn't want to speak though and tempt his voice and merely folded her into a tight embrace. They held each other like that for a long time, no longer needing words.

CF-JF CF-JF CF-JF CF-JF

When Frank meandered back to the camp, Claire rushed up to him to check the stitches on his cheek, "Please sit down, so I can have a better look."

She peered down at him examining the scar, "Looks good, no sign of infection."

Frank tried not to focus on the fact that her positioning and close proximity meant her breasts almost in his face.

"Frank?" the Englishman turned towards the Scot, and Jamie continued, "Normally when we take oaths here in Scotland, there is kneeling, blades, and sometimes blood involved. However, I think we've had enough of blades and blood tonight and I'm sure neither of us would like me kneeling afore ye. I know ye might no believe me after me earlier promises, but I give ye my solemn vow that I shall never raise me blade to ye again without cause. Ye have me deepest and humble apologies."

Jamie stuck out his hand, "I'm verra sorry I scarred ye. I ken well enough how that can affect someone. Will ye accept me apology?"

Frank stared at his rival's outstretched hand, remembering everything that had occurred this last week—all the times he had caught his wife with that man—and indeed for the last seven years when this man had come between him and his wife. Frank stood up, looked at Jamie for a long time directly in the eye and said, "I accept your apology."

Frank, very pointedly, did not take Jamie's outstretched hand.

CF-JF CF-JF CF-JF CF-JF

Soon before daybreak, a rider came galloping to their campsite at high speed. Jamie retrieved his knife from where Claire had dropped it the night before. He sheathed it though when he recognized who it was.

"Hamish," Jamie greeted his younger cousin. Jamie had been given the clan guardianship until Hamish came of age by Colum on his deathbed. However, the aftermath of Culloden Moor and the British determination to break the clans had made that declaration largely useless. The clan system, as Claire had warned him years earlier, had been dissolved. Hamish was not the publically recognized Laird of Clan MacKenzie. There would never again be the public oath-takings of fealty; however, in secret, all kept to the old ways as much as possible.

"Hamish?" Claire questioned, "Look at you. You're all grown up now."

The lad gave her a slight bow, "Mistress Fraser, it is good to see ye. Ye might no realize but yer appearance and disappearance among us has become written up in folk songs these last years."

Claire looked stunned and slightly amused, "I wasn't aware. I'd like to hear one sometime."

Jamie took hold of his horse's bridle, "What brought ye scurrying to us as though the Lobsterbacks were chasing ye?"

"Ye looking for a lass?"

Claire interjected, "Yes, a red-haired girl, seven years old, with blue eyes and unusual clothes for here in Scotland."

"I'm not sure about the clothes and eyes, but I did hear about one red-haired lass and the stories about her seemed as mysterious as yer own, if ye donna mind me sayin', Mistress Fraser. When I heard it and heard that ye was looking for a lass like that, I owed ye the message."

"What story?" Jamie prompted.

"A family about a day or so west of here, near Loch Achilty. The wife is a MacKenzie so that how I heard tell the story. Six years ago, they say the fairies took their baby and left a changeling who died. Then last week, the husband was traveling to Inverness to market and said that he saw the lass suddenly appear at the fairy hill. She had the same red-hair and so he knew that the fairies must have finally returned their child, Cairstine. He brought the lass home with him and I assume the fairy child is with them now.

The tears that Claire had not allowed herself to release now flowed freely, "Jamie, do you know what this means? It may be her. It may be our Brianna. And if they believe she is their beloved child returned to them, then they took good care of her. She may have been scared, but she probably wasn't cold or sick or…or abused." She looked back at Hamish, "When you say fairy hill, do you mean Craigh na Dun?"

The young man could only shake his head, "I did not hear the name of the hill during the retelling."

"Hamish," Jamie addressed his cousin, "could you ride with us to Loch Achilty?"

He shook his head, "I'm sorry, but I canna. I promised my mother that I would only be gone one night and that I would only deliver the message and ride back straightaway. Please stop at Castle Leoch soon and pay respects to my mother. She would love to see both of you again." He spurred his horse and was gone as quickly as he arrived leaving excitement and a renewed mission in his wake.