The songs for this chapter are: "The Moon Song" by Karen O. (when Jamie and Maggie are talking in the stables) and "I Will Never Fall in Love With You" by Sam Pinkerton (when Jamie and Maggie are saying goodbye)

Chapter 14

Jamie returned from Inverness the day before he was to leave for France and spent most of the day running around the castle preparing for his trip. Upon reflection that evening, Maggie was embarrassed to realize she had spent a good deal of her time running after him, exchanging a few pleasantries in the hallway but never catching him for long enough to truly talk or joke or laugh or do whatever it was that they did together that she was already preemptively missing. She tried to tell herself that she would be fine after Jamie left, because she would be. Nonetheless, she had only been at the castle a few weeks before Jamie arrived and she saw the two—Jamie and Leoch—as inextricably linked. Even the few days he had been away in Inverness had left her feeling strangely untethered. She had tried to keep busy, helping Mrs. Fitz whenever she could, going on her trip into town for the willow bark, keeping an eye on Broden and the other children. Mostly, she found herself arranging and rearranging the supplies Mr. Beaton had left behind, spending an inordinate amount time in the dark dungeon-like space in which he had lived and worked.

At dinner, Maggie finally found Jamie sitting still. As she walked past the table he was sharing with Murtagh, Jamie nodded at her but did not invite her to join them.

"Should I leave you two alone?" Maggie asked, hoping Jamie would say no.

"Perhaps," he said. "But, can you wait for me after the meal is finished?"

"Of course," Maggie said, trying to hide her disappointment.

She elected to eat in the kitchen with Mrs. Fitz and the other women but kept peeking out the door to see when Jamie might come looking for her. He and Murtagh were both leaning forward on their benches, bringing their heads close together to whisper to each other. Maggie understood Jamie wanting time alone to say goodbye to his godfather but, considering that he had just travelled to Inverness with Murtagh and would be travelling with him to Paris, she wasn't sure this private meal was necessary. Still, she was gratified to see Murtagh brush off Rupert when he tried to join them. If she was going to be excluded, she preferred that she not be the only one, although she felt somewhat guilty for the sentiment. As soon as Jamie stood up from his seat, he was inundated by well-wishers. He had been trying to keep his departure somewhat quiet but had clearly been unsuccessful. Jamie didn't seem to mind too much, though, animatedly chatting with them. Maggie craned her neck to get a better look at his face and see if he was looking for her, scanning the room perhaps, eager to get to her. He didn't appear to be. She sighed and turned her back to him, choosing to sweep the floor a third time in order to feel like she was doing something besides just waiting for him.

After what felt like an hour, Maggie peered around the door to check on Jamie's progress. He was sitting down again, nodding and smirking as Rupert and Angus performed an enthusiastic and, Maggie was sure, raunchy pantomime. If he preferred to listen to his friends talk about their trips to the whorehouse or something of similar ilk rather than say a proper goodbye to her, she might as well go to bed. He could come find her in the morning, if he could be bothered.

She trudged down the passageway but stopped when someone grabbed her hand. She turned to see Jamie.

"Come with me," he said still holding onto her hand.

She nodded and followed wordlessly as Jamie led her outside, toward the stables.

"Were you going up to your room?" he asked. "I thought you were going to wait for me?"

"Well, I wasn't sure how long I'd be waiting. I thought you might have forgotten about me."

"Never."

Maggie bit her lip to keep from smiling too widely. Then, she remembered her anger at being set aside for so long. "Did you really just expect me to wait for you forever?" she asked, "To constantly be at your beck and call?"

"I gather I should not have," Jamie said.

"No you should not have."

"I'm sorry. Murtagh wanted to discuss particulars of the trip and then other people wanted to come say goodbye and Angus and Rupert had a story to tell me and I didn't feel I could put them off and I just lost track of—"

"Of me."

"Only for a little while," Jamie said, before adding playfully, "Could you find it within yourself to forgive me?"

"I suppose," Maggie said, gently bumping her body into Jamie's.

When they reached the stables, Jamie plopped down into a pile of hay, dropping her hand. Maggie tucked both hands underneath her knees and clenched and unclenched the hand Jamie had been holding, feeling the warmth of it.

"So," she said, "Do you have anything to show me?"

"No. Should I?"

"You made it sound like you had something."

"Is the pleasure of my company not enough?"

Maggie knew how the game worked, knew that she was supposed to joke with him and tell him that no, it was not enough, but she couldn't bring herself to do it tonight, not when he was going away for God knew how long.

"Of course it's enough," she said.

Jamie looked surprised but pleased. "You keep being so nice to me, Maggie, I won't want to leave."

Maggie knew he was joking but couldn't help holding onto his words more than she should have. Ever since Jamie told her of his planned voyage to France, Maggie had been trying to devise ways to convince him to stay, first consciously and then, after she had resigned herself to his leaving, unconsciously—a constant stream of plans running through her head as she went about the rest of her day. She had already played out every possible scenario in her head and in each of them, Jamie decided to leave anyway. She just wasn't enough to keep him there. In order to distract herself from this reality, she decided to change the subject.

"So, how was Inverness?"

She tried to listen as Jamie described the scale of the town, listing all of its features with a reverence slightly tempered by frequent comparisons to Paris. "Of course, it's not as large as Paris." "It's not as grand as Paris." "There are far more places to buy books in Paris."

"Well good for Paris," Maggie muttered under her breath.

"What?"

"I said Paris sounds… good."

"Yes," Jamie agreed, nodding excitedly.

Still, he continued to speak of Inverness, not Paris. Maggie wanted to pointed out to him how much he clearly loved Scotland, how, even in the midst of the obligatory Paris comparisons, his eyes lit up as he described the Highlands' largest city.

Eventually, Maggie stopped even trying to listen to what Jamie was saying, transfixed instead by how he was saying it—the way he formed smiles around his words as he spoke, the way he leaned forward before a particularly interesting bit of information as if he had been waiting to share this news with Maggie, and only Maggie, all day, the way he punctuated the end of each story with a widening of his eyes, allowing Maggie a better look at the little bit of hazel in each green eye. She tried to imagine life at Leoch without Jamie, without his physical presence and mannerisms, but couldn't. I had a life before you, Jamie Fraser, she thought to herself.

But was it a life she wanted to go back to? She had been coming to realize her dependence on Jamie and felt ashamed. How could she have allowed this other person, this man, to take over her life so entirely? Isn't this why she had always been so averse to marriage? No, she had to answer herself. This was not why she had planned to never marry. She never wanted to marry because she never wanted to be controlled, dominated. She didn't want to be seen as just some man's wife, but Jamie would never see her like that, would likely not even present her to others as such. From the moment they met, he had understood her, had seen both the pain and strength she hid from others, even from herself sometimes. Perhaps, if we were married, though, he would stop seeing me that way? She had heard that husbands sometimes changed like this. She shook her head, trying to clear these ridiculous thoughts. She had no business worrying about how Jamie might change after they were married because they were never actually going to be married. She wasn't sure she wanted that and she was even less sure Jamie did and, regardless of either of their wants, Jamie's insistence on moving to France to become a glorified mercenary made a marriage absolutely impossible.

"Maggie, are you all right?" Jamie asked, pulling her out of her reverie.

"I'm fine," she lied.

"What are you thinking about?"

"I'm fine," Maggie said again. She didn't want to tell Jamie everything she was thinking and thought he might not want to hear it either. Some of the details might have been quite shocking to him. She drew her knees more tightly to her chest. She could feel the cold air blowing through the slats of the stable wall but didn't think she had the wherewithal to feel cold, not with everything else occupying her thoughts. She noticed Jamie shiver as a gust of wind passed by them.

"Are you nervous about leaving?" she found herself asking.

"Not really," Jamie said. "I've been there before."

"Yes, but before, you were studying, not fighting."

Maggie knew her suggestion that Jamie should have been nervous was not helpful but she felt uncontrollably unfiltered, as if some external force had decided on complete honesty without consulting her. She did know she would regret any pretense or dissembling should this turn out to be her last meeting with Jamie but she couldn't bear to view this as the end and pushed the thought from her head.

"Still," Jamie said with a lopsided grin. "I'm not nervous. And you shouldn't be either."

He patted her on the arm and Maggie felt his hand tremble slightly. Examining him more closely, Maggie saw that his entire body was shaking and was surprised that none of it registered on his face or in his voice. Without thinking about what she was doing, she grabbed one of his hands and held it in both of hers, trying to steady it.

"Maggie…" Jamie began.

"You're cold," Maggie said, dropping his hand and standing up. She suddenly felt the need to get away from him, worried about what she might do if she stayed there for too long. "I'll go get you some blankets."

"Maggie, that's not necessary." Jamie put his hand up as if to take hold of hers and pull her back down but instead let it hang in the air before lowering it slowly back down to his side.

"Nonsense. If you're going to be travelling a great distance, you'll need to be rested and there's no way you can sleep if you're not warm enough. I'll just go up to my room and get them."

"Maggie, I've already told you, I'm not going to take the blankets off your bed."

"It's fine, really. I'm just going to go get them. I'll be back."

As she walked away, Maggie looked back at Jamie, just able to make out his look of consternation in the dark. Back inside the castle walls, the only sources of light were the torches lining the silent passageways. The whole castle seemed to be asleep and Maggie realized how late it was. She wondered if she'd find Jamie sleeping when she returned.

As soon as she had left the stable, Maggie had wanted to go back. While her lack of self-control around Jamie frightened her, the thought of wasting their last few moments together frightened her more. After retrieving the blankets from her room, she rushed back outside, eager to catch Jamie before he fell asleep. She knew that propriety demanded that she return to her room after delivering the blankets, that she should not be spending time alone so late at night with a man, but she also knew that she could hardly stand being away from him. Her fickleness embarrassed her and she shook her head, trying to rid herself of the erratic thinking patterns that had been floating around her head ever since Jamie announced his intention to leave Castle Leoch. As she walked, she made a deal with herself. If she found Jamie asleep, she would cover him in the blanket and trudge back up to the castle. But, if she found him awake, she would stay with him for as long as he let her. When she saw Jamie sitting up, his elbows resting on his knees, she was thrilled.

"Here," she said, awkwardly placing a blanket over Jamie's shoulders, more dropping it than draping it.

"Thank you," he said. "But I'm not actually that cold. I suppose I am a bit nervous"

Maggie nodded. "What are you nervous about?"

"About what you'd expect," Jamie said. "My father taught me how to hold a sword and how to fight, but I've never been in a war before. I've never killed anyone and… I'm scared to do that. You must think I'm very cowardly."

"No." This was the exact opposite of what Maggie thought. "I'm scared," she said. "And I'm not even the one leaving."

Jamie turned his head and looked directly into Maggie's eyes. "What are you scared of?"

Maggie looked away. "I'm scared that you won't come back." She heard the quaver in her voice and swallowed. She lifted her head to meet Jamie's gaze and said more firmly, "I'm scared, but I think you'll be all right. I believe it. Because you're the strongest person I know and the bravest and that will help you. And you're kind, far too kind to die so young. I don't think God would allow it. And you've already survived so much." As she said these words, Maggie smiled, realizing that she believed them.

"Thank you," Jamie said.

Maggie took his hand more purposefully this time, interlacing her fingers with his, before lying back in the hay. Following her example, Jamie lay back too and for several minutes neither one of them said anything. Through the stable door, Maggie could see the almost full moon. The easing of her fears and racing thoughts seemed to have opened her up to other sensations and she now began to shiver.

"Now you're cold, though. Here," Jamie said, extending his blanketed arm so that it looked like a wing and pulling Maggie in close to himself so she was covered too. Then, with his arm still wrapped around her, he took the second blanket she had brought and spread it over both their legs.

Maggie found herself lying against Jamie's chest, her ear pressed to his heart, hearing its steady rhythm. At first she held her body stiff, unsure of what to do with this closeness. Jamie seemed similarly uncertain. His breathing was shallow and the arm he held around her was tense, barely even touching her. Gradually, though, they both relaxed and Maggie let herself be moved up and down by Jamie's deepening breaths.

"Do you want to talk more about Paris?" she asked.

"No."

"Do you want to talk more about anything?"

Jamie shook his head. "No, I'd just like… if you could just stay here for a bit… if that's all right."

"Of course it's all right."

"You should go back up to the castle soon," Jamie said sleepily. "But not just now."

Maggie lifted her head to see Jamie closing his eyes. With his eyes still closed, he added, "But you should go back soon. I don't want to be improper."

Maggie thought it was a bit late for that, but agreed, closing her eyes as well.

She woke the next morning to the warmth of the sun and the feeling of Jamie stirring beside her. She smiled contentedly before seeing Jamie jolt upright.

"Maggie, did you spend all night here?"

"Yes."

"For Christ's sake, Maggie. You can't do that."

Now Maggie sat up too. "I can't do that? How am I the one to blame? You're the one who was asking me to stay."

"But I told you to go back up to the castle eventually."

"Yes, but you didn't mean it."

"I did mean it, Maggie."

Maggie let out an exasperated sigh. "I don't understand what all the fuss is about," she said. She knew sharing a bed—even a pile of hay—with a man was generally frowned upon, but she didn't think anyone else had seen them and she wouldn't have been too perturbed if they had. She certainly didn't want any young woman to think less of Jamie, but she was not worried about her own marriage prospects in the slightest. "I stayed with you when you were ill and you stayed with me all night when I was sick," she added.

"That's different."

"It's not so different. Either way, I'm not too concerned."

"Just think what this would do to your reputation if anyone found out."

"That's really for me to worry about, isn't it?"

"I worry too, though."

"Well, you shouldn't."

"Maggie, sometimes I think you don't understand—"

"I understand perfectly, Jamie. I just don't care as much as you do."

"But you should," Jamie said. "Or, I don't know, I don't want to fight right before leaving."

"Well, I'm not going to agree with you, so…"

Jamie's face softened. "I know that, Maggie. I mean, God forbid you ever lose an argument."

"There's no reason for me to lose if I'm right."

Jamie rolled his eyes and bent down to gather up the blankets.

"I'm going to miss you," he said. "God knows why, but I am."

"It's because I'm so charming."

Maggie smiled and looked up at Jamie. She wanted to fling her arms around him, to move towards him until there was no space between her body and his, just as it had been last night, but she didn't do either of those things. Instead, she just stared at him, marveling at how the bright green of his eyes always surprised her, no matter how many times she saw it.

"Jamie, there you are," a familiar voice called from behind her. "It's almost time to…" Murtagh's speech halted as he noticed Maggie. "Go."

"Aye," Jamie said, nodding at Murtagh in a gesture more of dismissal than consent.

Maggie expected some impatience on Murtagh's part and was surprised at his look of acceptance as he inclined his head in her direction.

"I'll be seeing you, Maggie," he said.

"Yes," Maggie said. "That will be… good."

As Murtagh left, Jamie looked at the pile of blankets in his hands and placed them back on the ground. Then he stepped toward Maggie and hugged her tightly.

"I'm really glad we met," he said.

"Me too."

When Jamie released her from the hug, Maggie tried to say more but no words came to her. Jamie looked similarly lost. Eventually, he nodded at her, said goodbye, and walked away. Seeing him leave, Maggie began to panic. She followed him out of the stable slowly and watched him as he rounded the corner toward Murtagh and the horses.

"Wait!" she called out.

Jamie walked back to her and Maggie wondered if she had called him back just to see that, to imagine him returning many months from now, perhaps even years.

"I—" she began, unsure of where to go next. "I want you to be very careful."

She kissed Jamie on the cheek, having to stand on her toes in order to reach. When she lowered herself to the ground, both she and Jamie were blushing.

"I believe in you," she said.

"Thank you, Maggie."

Jamie reached for her hand and squeezed it gently. Then he turned and disappeared around the other end of the stable. Maggie did not follow him this time, but she also did not walk back to the castle. Instead, she returned to the stable and surreptitiously watched Jamie and Murtagh saddle their horses from behind the stable door. She saw Jamie mount his horse and then turn to look for her once more before leaving. He looked sad but instantly brightened when he noticed Maggie peeking out at him. He smiled and winked at her and Maggie tried to smile back. Unsure of her success, she gave him a small wave as well. She watched Jamie until he and Murtagh were out of sight and then picked up the blankets, held them tightly to herself, and walked up to the castle.

As she strode past the kitchen, Maggie heard the sound of spoons hitting metal pots and women ordering each other about. She could smell the sweetness of the porridge from outside. Mrs. Fitz must have flavored it with dates again. Maggie considered joined the women but decided against it. She questioned her ability to make pleasant conversation, so consumed was she by thoughts of Jamie. Even if she could carry it off, it struck her as disrespectful to observe the departure of her closest friend without even a moment's reflection. It would be akin to going about her business as normal after a death in the family, she thought before immediately banishing the idea from her mind.

Maggie decided to return to her room instead, where she shook the hay out of the blankets, spread them carefully on her bed—making sure to smooth out every wrinkle—and lay down on top of them. She threw her arms out like a bird in flight and grabbed the top corners of the blankets, drawing them to her body and wrapping herself up, just as Jamie had wrapped both the blankets and himself around her just hours earlier. When she closed her eyes, she could feel his heartbeat echoing in her ears and thumping against her cheek. As she settled into this feeling, the heartbeat grew faster and faster, disturbing her. Sitting up slowly, she realized someone was knocking on the door.

"Mistress, Mistress," the knocker called. "I have something for you."

Maggie opened the door to see an excited Broden, his arms weighed down by a great amount of yellow fabric, upon which rested two leather-bound books.

"Where should I put it?" he asked, staggering a bit.

Maggie directed him to the bed, taking the books from him and grabbing one end of the fabric.

"Broden, what is this?"

"It's a gift," Broden said, smiling widely.

"For me?"

"Yes."

"From who?" Maggie asked.

"He didn't want me to say. He told me you'd know. He also told me to leave you alone after I delivered everything because he said… he said you were a 'rather unusual woman who might react to the receiving of gifts in strange and even alarming ways.'"

Maggie smirked. Jamie—if that was indeed who this mysterious "he" was—had been right that she was unaccustomed to receiving gifts of any sort, especially ones as large as these.

She watched Broden back out of the room slowly but called him back when she noticed two pieces of parchment on the floor.

"Are these part of the gift as well?"

"Ooh," Broden squeaked, hurrying to pick them up and placing one on the fabric and one on top of the books. "I'm going to go now," he said.

Maggie smiled. "Thank you, Broden."

When the young boy had left, she turned her attention to the notes he had placed on either pile. They were written in English and she had to sound them out carefully.

The one on the books read: To practice your letters, while the note on the fabric read: To practice your dancing.

That didn't seem right, but after reading it several more times, Maggie could not think of any other word those letters could form. She set the note to the side and lay the bunched up fabric flat over the bed in order to inspect it more closely. Maggie gasped. The unfurling of the cloth revealed it to be not just a piece of fabric, but a fully-formed dress.

Maggie had never seen such a brightly colored dress. The women of her village all wore brown and grey, perhaps green if they were lucky enough to find the material. Even the women of Leoch didn't seem to stray too far from these colors, adding blue to the mix but generally leaving it at that. In addition to the bright hue, the dress was also adorned with intricately-rendered blue and pink flowers, each attached to a thin brown stem. Maggie ran her fingers over the yellow of the dress, amazed at its smoothness. She wasn't sure what type of fabric it was, but knew it could not be wool. She stood staring at the dress for long enough to feel silly. She had never cared much about appearance before. In the past, a book would have excited her much more than a dress. But, in the past, she had not had access to whole library, nor had she ever seen a garment as remarkable as the one that lay before her. Still, she forced herself to turn away from the dress and open the first of the books. As she did this, a letter fell out, this time written in Gaelic.

Dear Mairead,

I hope you will accept these gifts as (an inadequate) repayment of the enormous debt I owe you. I am deeply grateful for all you have done for me over the past few months. Without your healing skills and quick thinking with Randall, I am not sure I would be here today. Above all, though, I am grateful for your friendship.

I went to Inverness with the purpose of acquiring supplies for my trip and buying you a few books as a token of my appreciation. However, while there, I stumbled upon this dress and thought it might suit you. To be more exact, I actually stumbled across a woman wearing this dress. She was a fairly proper English woman and as I came upon her, she had just had someone trample upon her skirt, causing it to tear. I suppose she must have been travelling with quite a wardrobe because, instead of having her maid fix it, she agreed to sell it to me instead, at a very cheap price. (I mention this only because the expense seems like something you might worry about.) I mended the tear as best I could. Jenny taught me to sew when I was young but I do not have a very fine hand. I hope you will not mind. I imagine that with a fancy dress such as this, you may feel more able to attend special gatherings. Perhaps you will even learn to dance like a civilized person.

Now, because I know you are first and foremost a woman of intellect and because I did not want to be yelled at for forgetting this, I am also giving you these two books so you can practice your English. The first is written by an Irishman by the name of Jonathan Swift and is called Gulliver's Travels. The second is a blank journal so you do not run out of parchment for your writing. When I return, I expect you will be talking and dressing like a refined English gentlewoman. Only I will know about the wild Irish woman that lies beneath.

Finally, I must admit that my motives are not entirely altruistic. By giving you these items, I also hope that I am making myself somewhat less easy to forget. My wish is that you will use them and think of me. I know I will think of you while I am away.

With fond appreciation,

James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser

The formal ending made Maggie smile. She had never seen Jamie's full name written out like that before. She also had to chuckle at Jamie's use of her more proper name. Jamie's tutor must have taught him to write like that. Maggie found the mix of formality and humor in the letter itself somewhat hard to parse, but enjoyed it nonetheless. She knew Jamie was poking fun at her with the various allusions to English civility. However, she was unsure if his reference to her as "a woman of intellect" was meant to be taken seriously or not. Either way, the letter thrilled her. She read it through a second time, going back over the last line again and again. I know I will think of you while I am away. She wondered if Jamie really worried she might forget him. She didn't think this was even possible.

She was also deeply touched by Jamie's mending of her dress. She had never met a man who knew how to sew. She moved back to the dress and searched through the bulk of the skirt, looking for a visible stitch. Finally she found it, a jagged, yellow line running from the edge of the skirt to the bodice. She traced the path with her finger, feeling Jamie's labor in each rough thread. He was right. His sewing was not especially delicate. In fact, it was fairly clumsy, but this made Maggie love it even more. In a crowded room, she doubted anyone would notice the haphazard mending, but she would know it was there, would know that she was wearing Jamie's handwork draped across her body.

She lay back down on the bed, placing the dress on top of hers and opening up the first book. On the left hand page, was an ink portrait of well-coifed gentleman. On the right, an overwhelming array of words cluttered up the page. Maggie could decipher the words travels, world, and Dublin, and not much else. She stared at it as if waiting for the other words' meanings to reveal themselves. When they did not, she resolved to return to it later armed with her Gaelic-English dictionary. That could wait for another day, though. She placed the book to her side and began to mentally construct the beginnings of a letter she knew she would not be able to send.

Dear Jamie…