Chapter 10: Taking the Reins

Disclaimer: D. Gabaldon owns all rights to Outlander

Frank was the first in the camp to be up, dressed, and out of the tent to muster the men. It was a daunting task for him to find an increment of rest the prior night, and so rather than remain on his cot, he roused himself to begin the day.

The sight of Randall with the grotesque bullet hole in the center of his forehead, and the look of shock on his face haunted him for hours. He presumed that vision would more than likely follow him to a trench prepared for his own grave.

By the light of day, Frank worried that he might be caught in a faux pas in this ruse. He was familiar with military procedure and stratagem; it was his carrying out the impersonation of the captain that was the real concern. But then, if he fell back into his usual well-bred manner, perhaps the troops would welcome the change in behavior. It was a known fact that Randall was hated, or at the very least, feared. The man's moods were so capricious as to make one's head spin. A comrade in arms could be dining pleasantly with the captain one evening and be hanging by a rope the following morning.

After a hasty meal, one of his men—that would take some getting used to—saddled up Randall's black stallion, Mystere—a magnificent animal—and the move to Leoch was once again on the road.

Frank tried to be as surly as possible to the troops, so as not to cause suspicion, but it taxed him to the limit to play such a villainous part. His only respite from the stress of it all was when he finally retired for the night and he could put Captain Randall to bed.

# # # # #

The Highlanders were out and mucking about again; Dougal drumming up more support for Bonny Prince Charlie, I imagined. I wasn't allowed to accompany the men this time, as there were several people within the confines of Leoch, falling ill with a fever, and I couldn't be spared to go along with them. My prayers however followed the motley band to spare them any harm or accident since they'd be miles away from my medical skills.

Jamie came home one evening so sozzled that he was precariously listing to one side, his shoulder bumping against the wall of our room.

I sat up in bed. "Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, Jamie! Stay away from the hearth. I don't wish to be tending to your burnt hide."

"Dinna fash, woman. I'm no goin' to be fallin' anatime soon."

"Says you. You're falling-down snockered!"

"Och … I wouldna say as much. As long as I can stand op, I'm nay drunk, only a wee bit tipsy."

He swayed unsteadily, heading toward our bed and finally sat down with a plop. Then, nearly sliding, arse first to the floor, Jamie tugged off his boots, pitching them onto the stone tiles. His broadsword and dirk clattered to ground level next, the sound reverberating in my ears.

"Shhhh …" I admonished him. "You'll wake the dead with all this commotion."

Struggling with his jerkin, sark, and kilt for several minutes, he finally managed to remove his clothes, and slid in beside me. In an instant, his lips were incessantly making the voyage from my throat down to my breasts. I shoved him away abruptly, the pungent aroma emanating from his normally welcome body, offending my nostrils.

Lovely …"Honestly, Jamie. You smell like a brewery, mixed with horse dung. If you expect a go round with me, then clean yourself up. When was the last time you bathed—a week ago?"

With his head jerked back, he counted on his fingers, and muttered, "Let's see now, what day is it, t'day?"

Lying back down, I scolded, "Oh, for heaven's sake, just go to sleep. It's late; your urges can wait until morning, after you've sobered up and washed off that offensive odor. And please, give the maid your clothes to be laundered. I'll not have my husband donning the same filthy apparel."

I turned away from the smelly lout, but even so, the very air I breathed was permeated with his stench.

He snuggled his head against my neck. "I expect I could use a good lie down. I'm fair puggled."

Pulling the blanket up over my nose in a vain attempt to block out the fragrance, I murmured, "And I'm fair suffocating."

Jamie turned his head, leaving a whiskey-imbued kiss at my shoulder. "G'night to ye, mo cridhe."

I fired back, "I certainly hope so."

The following morning, my Jamie no sooner scrubbed off the remnants of his previous days of rough-housing, than he had me bedded and smiling beneath the sheets.

We kissed goodbye, after our enjoyable little tryst, and off he raced with Dougal and the lads, to search the hills for supporters.

For the next several days, he came home late, reeking of whiskey and strong urine. I had enough, and wanted to get to the bottom of this drinking binge. I'd never seen him bladdered so frequently. Of course, the Scots were notorious for drinking a nip here and there, but Jamie very seldom imbibed to the point of becoming tipsy, as he alleged. Something had to have ignited this change in behavior.

I told him one morning, as I straightened up the bed, "If you continue in this fashion to come home plastered every damn night, then you'd better bunk somewhere else, cowboy."

Quirking an eyebrow, he walked to the basin set on the highboy across the room, and filled it with water. Then, scoffing, he spouted, "Is that so?"

I laced up my corset, in an agitated manner. "Yes, indeed. I mean it, Jamie. I'm sick to death of your drinking and carousing. It has to stop."

Splashing his face with the water, he brayed, "Dinna be tellin' me what to do, Sassenach. Ye're my wife, and as such, ye'll keep yer sharp tongue in that mouth o' yers."

I shook my head, glaring at him. "I shall do no such thing, and furthermore, you can move your belongings out of here unless you've decided to come to your senses."

"And if Dougal has other ideas?"

"That's a lie, and you know it. Dougal and the others are home, well before you are. What is it? Are you seeing some little trollop?"

Jamie began to shake in anger, and with a sweep of one arm, flung the clay ewer and basin to the floor. The water spilled everywhere, and the vessels were shattered beyond repair. He stepped over the broken pieces, grabbed his bandoleer and weapons, then stormed from the room. I followed, hot on his heels, chasing him down the hall.

"If there's something else going on, then speak to me. Tell me what's wrong."

His long legs carried him more quickly than I could accommodate, and so I unwillingly gave up pursuit, allowing him to simmer down.

# # # # #

Of course, no enterprise could operate smoothly for Frank. They had ridden only a few miles or so when the surrounding vegetation began to rumble and quake. All at once, a rather large, wild boar came snorting out of the brush toward them, frightening the horses.

Foster's animal reared up, tossing the corporal to the ground. The soldier cried out in pain, and grabbed at his leg, which appeared to be broken. When his mount's hooves came down, the wild beast gored the horse's flank, ripping it open with its razor-sharp tusks.

The wounded stallion staggered, legs slipping sideways. It careened down the sloping bank that adjoined the road, and tumbled, breaking its neck.

The dragoons gave a wide berth to the feral creature while they desperately tried to control their animals, and it ran off to the other side of the highway. The next moment gave confirmation as to what had occurred, since the howling of a wolf pack could be heard nearby. My god, would he have to protect himself from wolves as well.

With the savage beast gone, Frank bellowed orders to the men. "Someone fashion a stretcher for the corporal. Fletcher, Williams, Hicks, get him in the cart, and be quick about it. Take Foster to the surgeon back at the fort. I don't fancy meeting a pack of bloodthirsty wolves on the road. That is to be avoided at all costs."

Pointing at the leftenant, he continued, "Hill, I shall put you in charge. See that you don't disappoint me."

"Aye, Captain."

"The rest of you, lot will continue on with our mission."

That left three dragoons in his command. With such a small group, he prayed no other mishaps would befall them before their arrival at Leoch.

The little band set up camp that night, and Frank placed Hawkins on sentry duty, as he could still hear the wolves. Had they followed him to camp? He'd just fallen asleep when a shout rang out.

Grabbing his pistol, he ventured outside his quarters, and was met with a pack of snarling, timber wolves, their eyes glowing menacingly in the dark. The two other soldiers came to their aid, and began shooting.

"Stop!" Frank commanded. "Fire over their heads. I don't want them killed."

"Sir?' Hawkins seemed dumbfounded, but did as he was ordered, and the wolves yipped, racing off to find easier prey.

The men muttered among themselves after Frank returned to his tent, supposing that he was asleep. Instead, he lay on his cot, listening intently to their discussion of the recent event.

It was Hawkin's voice. "What do you make of it, Alfred? He wouldn't give us permission to kill a one of them."

"Most peculiar, to be sure, not like the cap'n at all," Alfred said. "Maybe he's gettin' soft."

"Or maybe they reminded him of pets he once had," Hawkins added. "They say some chaps take more care of their animals than their fellow man. You've seen how he fawns over Mystere."

They tittered about that remark.

The third trooper yawned. "Well, you two can blather on all night, but I'm ready to bed down; so, g'night to you both."

# # # # #

Finishing up with the patients in my surgery, and still in a mood most foul, I disregarded his royal highness' command, and went outside the walls of the bloody stronghold. I took a basket with me, and huffed and muttered angrily while I plucked at the leafy foliage and herbs to replenish my needed stores.

The basket was half full when I spotted a mass of curly red hair sticking up above some tall hedges. A moment later, a head accompanied the hair, and two lake blue eyes peeped over the edge.

"Ah, there ye are, Sassenach."

Taking a deep breath, I put down the basket, and glared stonily at him. "If you came all this way to fuss at me, you'll be wasting your breath."

He stretched forth his arms in a show of supplication, and skirted around the side of the hedge, sheepishly admitting, "Nay, I came to apologize to ye."

"Oh ... Well, then, let's have it, shall we?"

"Weel, I suppose ye have ever' right to wonder why I've been so long away o' a night." Jamie hung his head, staring at the ground. "In truth, so many nights, I expect.

"I've been drinkin' to forget; drownin' my troubles in a bottle ye might say."

"Yes ...and. Go on."

"It's a personal thin' ye ken. My Uncle …"

I nodded, interrupting him. "Dougal, you mean."

"Aye. He's been displayin' the stripes on my back to gain sympathy for the damn Jacobite cause. It's humiliatin', and I canna abide it."

Bristling with irritation, I commented. "Nor should you. That man! He knows how you feel about people looking at those lash marks. Has he no scruples whatsoever?"

"None as I'm aware o'."

I pulled at his arm, seating us together on the grass. "Oh, Jamie, I'm so sorry. But can't Colum take him to task for doing such a thing. He's embarrassing you in public."

"Och … Colum has nay idea as this has been goin' on."

With a jerk of amazement, I sputtered, "Whaaaat? Why won't you tell him?"

Jamie lifted a tuft of copper curls up off his nape, separating the strands so I could glance at what he was alluding to. "Christ—d'ye see this scar on the back o' my head?"

I gently traced the rutted line with my finger. "Dougal once took an axe to it, leastwise, I think it was him. If I let Colum ken what he's been op to, I'll havta sleep wi' one eye open ever' night. That, and a dirk under my pillow, aye?"

Instinctively, I leaned into his side, wrapping my arms about his broad shoulders. While doing so, I caught a glimpse of something shiny and metallic out of the corner of my eye. It was a ways off, glinting in the sunlight. What had I just witnessed? And should I be concerned?