Chapter 9: Modification

Jack eyed the substantial portion of casserole he held a plate of, hoping Claire would accept it. It contained after all, the heartiest assemblage of cooked meats he could put his hands on for a while and also, some of the ingredients the woman had been many of preaching about, like radishes, carrots, onions and other vegetables necessary to prepare the delicacy. His prisoner hadn't been eating much to start with, but after Jack got hold of the list of Scottish names of people executed after the battle of Culloden, it was even less she would take. It affected the Englishman of course as well. James Fraser, Laird Broch Tuarach, the document said, it was hard to miss and he knew it wasn't his illness that made his knees go weak and his chest constrict at the sight. There were only losses and losses these days, but perhaps at least the certainly of her husband's death will make it easier persuading Claire without having to use force to follow Jamie's wish and let herself be taken to Craigh na Dun, whatever the reason for that request was. Jack was in no mood to fight her, even if his physical stamina would've been sufficient. He thus stalled for a few days, letting things settle, gathering strength for the journey. Now he was setting the plate down on the table, "it had gotten a little cold on the way here. You know where the kitchens are and the wretched Scottish weather hasn't been notified it is supposed to be May."

Claire half raised her gaze, her hunger getting the better of her at the pleasant smell, so unusual in the vaults that filled the room. Was that really chicken and how did Jack find someone who was aware of using potatoes the right ways here in Scotland? Her curiosity must've been showing on her face because Jack remarked, "your unborn child is showing interest and you'd be better indulging them because tomorrow we set off to Craigh na Dun and I can't promise you any luxuries. What I can promise you is that I will deliver you in safety there."

"Safety at Craigh na Dun?" Claire commented, even though she knew he was not aware of the full implications. However, she pulled closer on the bench and grabbed the spoon to wolf some of that delicious food down. It was quite a waste not tasting every morsel properly, but she discovered she was indeed very hungry given how the smell got her undone. Clearly, that was exactly Jack's intent with the presentation, but she could not find it in herself to care about being sort of tricked.

"Your husband seemed to think you would be," Jack contemplated, "though I can't fathom why. I don't remember it being innocuous," he referenced the moment of their first meeting, her appearing in what he thought were undergarments and his reaction to finding a lady in a vulnerable position.

The spoon froze in Claire's hand, but then she decided that was another thing she could hardly care about at the moment. There was her feeling of numbness and grief at losing Jamie and then there were the bodily needs that sometimes she had no control over penetrating the mist of her despondency. Above that, it all simply washed over her. "It's all coming full circle then is it." Her contemplative brain remarked, without the rest of her being feeling like it was taking part in the conversation or was at all present.

"You have nothing to fear from me," Jack promised.

"I've gathered as much. One poke with a finger to your belly and you'll crumble, believe me, I know where to push."

Jack made a face that was somewhat reminiscent of a wince, "why do you think I stayed far back from you." He rolled his eyes, "which brings me to the issue of transporting you a hundred and sixty miles against your will. Is there any chance you are actually going to honour your husband's last wishes?"

Claire blinked up at him startled. Did he have to put it like that? There was no way she was going to leave this time and era if there was a chance Jamie was alive. The list Jack showed her had been proof, evidence she was unwilling to accept, too shaken by the shock of it and too wound up in denying. "Culloden is not far off our supposed destination. I want to say good bye, find my husband's grave, and if he is indeed dead, then there's nothing else for me in this realm."

Her captor nodded at that solemnly. He wouldn't expect anything else from this particular woman, who was not the squeemish or the theatrical kind and he wouldn't do it differently himself. "Deal," he stood to get ready and was about to depart when a thought made him pause, "nothing else for you in this realm you say. That isn't exactly an agreement to head to Craigh na Dun or is it?"

"Yet that's exactly what it is." Claire established, not in the mood for explanations.

Jack narrowed his eyes, "you're not intending to do anything foolish?" He made a vague gesture towards her protruding belly, all the more obvious since she ate less. "That is Jamie's child you're carrying." He sounded fierce, protective and provocative.

"You're not to say his name!" The brunette snapped, "it was the agreement!"

"I wasn't aware the agreement stood after his death," he challenged, aloof, as if he didn't care about that particular unfortunate development regarding the Scot.

"We don't know he's dead," Claire clung to the hope.

"You, I didn't take for delusional, Madam," Jack commented. Her response wasn't one he expected, nor were her actions of late.

To top it off, Claire gave a hysterical laugh, "you think me delusional now, try hearing the truth about who I am!"

Jack raised a quizzical eyebrow and sauntered back, interests heightened, "I had been trying to get you to tell me that since the first time we met if you remember."

Claire looked at him ruminative, long and intense, a world at war just behind her misty eyes. She needed this. She needed this like a traveller needed water when lost in the desert. With Jamie and Murtagh most likely gone, there was nobody who she could imagine would have the slightest chance of believing her, not without first hand knowledge behind the tale. But Jack had possibly possessed enough personal experience for her story to make sense. While she did not give a toss about his sympathy if he was at all capable of the sentiment, she was desperate not to be alone at least with the burden of knowledge. "Bring a couple of bottles of good whiskey. I'll tell you everything."

tbc