In the name of the king, I demand you open these doors!
Claire sits upright in bed both trembling and immobilized.
This isn't happening.
This can't be happening.
Not now, not like this.
She can hear Jenny's voice down the hall—muffled, but full of heightened emotion—and she hears Ian trying to calm her, his voice even as he tells her that he'll take care of it.
Jenny's tongue clicks and Claire can almost see her, standing there in her shift, her arms folded over her chest and a look of skepticism in her eye, staring at her husband as though he were the dumbest man on the planet. The door opens, then closes, and as the soldier yells again, his fists pounding on the door as he once more demands for it to be opened, she hears Jenny hiss, we're harboring a fugitive.
And that's when Claire's eyes fall to Jamie.
He's looking directly at her, eyes locking with hers and his jaw tense.
"I need to get out of here," he tells her, his voice low and barely audible as he throws the blanket off of himself. "I—" He stops himself before she can reach for him, wincing in pain as he mutters something unintelligible in Gaelic. "I canna—"
"You shouldn't be up," she says, suddenly able to move. "You—"
"And what should I do? Just lay here and let them kill me?"
Claire's eyes fall away from his.
She doesn't have an answer.
"Jamie—"
"Help me."
She nods, reaching for her shift and pulling it on. She has no idea what she's agreeing to—there's nowhere for Jamie to hide. Her eyes fill with tears as she gets up and moves to the other side of the bed, letting him take her hand to steady himself.
Jamie manages to sit up as she hears Ian opening the door and her heart pounds a little harder as she hears the soldier's boots on the wood floors of the front room. Ian's voice remains calm as he inquires about their visit, reminding them that it's the middle of the night and that his children are asleep upstairs.
"The wardrobe—"
Claire follows Jamie's gaze. "You'll never—"
"I have to," he says, his voice tense and low as it cuts in, rising over hers. "If they find me, they will kill me and then they will kill all of you."
For a moment, all she can do is stare—she knows that he's right and there isn't another option in the room. The priesthole in the cellar would be the safest place, but there's no way that she could get him in there, not with the soldiers already in the house. Even if he were well and able, he'd never make it unnoticed.
So the wardrobe is their only possibility.
"Alright, easy now," she murmurs, her fingers tightening around his wrist. "Put your weight on me."
He nods, slowly rising to his feet, his fingers wrapping tightly around her hand. He's wobbly and he winces with every move, and by the time they reach the wardrobe and unlatch it, Claire can hear footsteps coming closer.
Jamie looks sharply toward the door and she holds her breath, turning her body as if she could shield him. Claire reaches behind herself, fishing for Jamie's hand—she's not sure if the touch is meant to comfort him or her—but when his thumb rubs against her wrist, in spite of it all, she smiles, bracing herself.
And then as the door opens and Jenny's head pops in, she exhales a heavy sigh of release.
"I canna believe this," Jenny whispers, slipping into the room, her eyes darting between her brother and sister-in-law. "Where—" She voice halts as her eyes fall to the open wardrobe. "Get in."
"That's the plan," Claire says.
"I dinna ken if it'll work, but—"
"It's the best we can do." Jenny nods, moving to Jamie's other side and taking him by the hand. "Easy," Claire murmurs as she and Jenny help him to step inside.
It's a struggle and it's obvious that Jamie is in pain and trying to hide it from her, but by the time she hears heavy footsteps on the stairs, Jamie is crouched down at the bottom of the wardrobe and she and Jenny are covering him up with some of her most voluminous, flouncy dresses from France.
It's a poor hiding spot, but it's the only one available to them, and she tells herself that it'll be good enough.
It has to be.
Claire swallows hard as Jenny leads her over to the bed and together, they sit down on the edge.
"Ye ken the story, aye?"
Claire nods. "I came up with most of it, remember."
"I ken that," Jenny whispers, "But yer no' in the right frame o' mind an—" Jenny stops abruptly, grabbing hold of Claire's wrist as they both hold their breath, listening.
The soldiers have reached the top of the stairs, their boots stomping on the hardwood floor as Ian begs them to be quiet, reminding him that there are children sleeping in the house. But it's no use. They ignore him, speaking—shouting, really—amongst themselves as though Ian isn't there at all.
Claire's eyes pinch closed. She's never been particularly religious, but in spite of that, she prays—she prays that they don't find Jamie, prays that the children stay asleep and don't spoil their story with the truth about who she is and who's returned to them.
"Start in there," she hears one say, before one set of footsteps goes off in another direction, away from where the rooms where the family sleeps, heading toward the servants quarters where Mrs. Crook sleeps.
But before she can't even consider whether or not that should relieve her, another set of foot steps going in the other direction, coming toward her room.
Her heart skips a beat then flutters wildly.
Once more Ian reminds the soldiers of the children sleeping in the house, but again, the soldiers don't seem to hear him—or perhaps they do, perhaps they just don't care.
Momentarily, her thoughts drift to her nieces and nephews, and to Fergus—at least Fergus is old enough to know what's happening. The others must be terrified by the strange, angry voices and thumping of their boots…
Jenny reaches for Claire's hand and that brings her thoughts back into the present moment. Jenny squeezes her hand tightly as their footstep slow.
"Who sleeps here?" a soldier demands.
"My wife an' I," Ian tells them. "And our youngest. She's only a wee—"
They soldiers push open the door, no longer listening as Ian pleas for them not to go in and wake the sleeping baby.
"Kitty," Jenny murmurs, her voice barely audible as her fingers tighten around Claire's wrist, her whole body stiffening with fear and anger—and then, right on cue, Kitty's little cry begins, slow at first, but louder and louder with every cry until she's screaming, screeching over all other noise.
"Can't you shut her up?"
Jenny's jaw tightens as she stands, letting go of Claire's wrist as she moves to the door. "Stay here," she whispers, taking a deep breath before stepping out in the hall. "What's goin' on here?" she asks, her voice booming over the men's.
Through the crack in the door, Claire can see Jenny, standing toe-to-toe with one of the soldiers, somehow looking as though she's towering over him despite being at least foot shorter.
Ian is holding Kitty as he stands at her side, explaining what's the soldier's will not—and all the while, Kitty screams, making it impossible for Claire to hear what's being said.
And then one of of the soldiers says something and Jenny's eyes go wild as she steps in a little closer, and if she weren't so terrified, she'd laugh as the soldier is met by the wrath of Jenny Fraser Murray.
Her voice is shrill and demanding and then men all stand around her, looking as if they're being scolded by their own mothers—and though Claire misses most of it, she hears her demand that they leave as she reminds him that less than a week before, they search the house and found nothing incriminating.
It's then that Claire notices the looks they exchange—something's changed from then to now. Her stomach sinks. She'd willingly allowed herself to believe what she knew was a lie, willingly telling herself that because the redcoats had been the ones to return Jamie to them it meant that he was out of harm's way, that they'd be content to look the other way and allow the Frasers to live in peace.
It'd been so foolish.
It's either that Jenny doesn't notices their looks or she doesn't care. She continues on her tirade as Kitty continues to cry as Ian tries in vain to comfort her, and the soldier avoid eye contact as she reminds them that she and her husband, and everyone in their household, are good and loyal subjects to the king and that if Jamie Fraser ever dared to darken her doorway again, she'd personally report him. After all, she had sympathy for traitors.
Once more, the soldiers exchange looks—and for second, Claire thinks Jenny has convinced them. Their voices are quieter and they seem uncomfortable—and she wonders if it's almost over, if Jamie will really go unnoticed.
Glancing toward the wardrobe she thinks of him, crouched down at the bottom, hoping that the position he's in hasn't opened up his barely-healing wounds—and she's glad to find her thoughts shift to changing his bandages and washing him up, rather than… well, rather than the unthinkable.
Jenny continues on her tirade, reminding them that scaring small children is far beneath them, that she expects more and better from his majesty's representatives, and invites them back in the morning or any other sensible hour—and though her voice has softened considerably, she's still doing a fine job of dressing them down and diminishing their stature.
And once more, Claire finds herself thinking that they really might've pulled this off, that the redcoats might actually go without having even come close to finding Jamie, tucked away in the wardrobe.
Before she's even finished the thought, she sees a shadow moving toward the bedroom door—and her stomach lurches.
"What's in there? No one's checked there, have they?"
The soldier's question goes unanswered.
He seems to be alone.
She holds her breath as a soldier looks in—and though he speaks directly to her, she doesn't hear a word of it. He stares at her, blinking as if she were dumb, repeating himself again, louder and slower, but still her heart beats too loudly for her to hear his words.
After repeating himself for a second time, he simply stares at hers, waiting.
"Je suits desole?" she hears herself ask.
The soldier sighs, annoyed. "Who are you? Certainly not the lady of the house."
"No," she murmurs, "Um… sa cousine."
His brow cocks. He's taken aback, maybe even amused. "A French woman? In the highlands?"
Claire offers a tight, nervous smile. She can still hear Jenny. She's calmer now, recapping the contrived story about the last time she heard from her brother, long before Culloden. Her voice is haughty and self-righteous, and though she tells a blatant lie, Jenny recites as if it were the divine truth.
It makes her feel sick, but nonetheless, she smiles and launches into the manufactured story about how she came to be at Lallybroch—and much like Jenny, there's nothing to indicate in her voice that she's telling a lie.
The soldier listens and it's clear that he's more than a little bored by her story, his eyes wandering around the room.
Perhaps she imagines it, but they seem to settle on the wardrobe, and her mouth suddenly goes dry as she watches him wander, his finger tracing the edge of the mantle as he passes.
"Je peux vous montrer," she says, her voice nearly pleading as he turns to look back at her from over his shoulder. "Les letters," she clarifies. "Ils expliqiquent tout." Claire looks away, looking into the darkened hall, not wanting the soldier to look for too long into her eyes, not wanting him to see her fear as he moves closer to where Jamie hides. "Mon cousin a—"
Her voice halts.
In the hall, the soldiers are talking to Jenny and Ian, and though she can't hear what they're saying, the color has completely drained from Jenny's face.
Her stomach sinks.
"Pourquoi es tu venu ce soir?"
The soldier hardens as their eyes meet. "We had a report."
She swallows and tries in vain to keep her face blank as she tries to delay and distract him. "Je ne comprends pas."
He nods and clears his throat, and then in terribly poor French he explains that Jamie Fraser was found, half-dead in a barn near Culloden Moor. He slowly makes his way around the bedroom, bending to look beneath the bed and out the window as he explains that somehow Jamie Fraser disappeared. His name was recorded, but he was not executed nor did he remain in the barn. Seemingly, he'd disappeared into thin air.
He presses on the walls and taps his foot along the floorboards, presumably looking for something to come loose, to reveal a secret spot, and all the while continuing to explain they had every reason to believe that Jamie Fraser had returned to Lallybroch.
Claire says nothing—she's rendered paralyzed by her fear, worrying that anything she utters or any move she makes will somehow reveal her fugitive husband's hiding spot.
Once more, her stomach lurches and her whole body flinches as the bedroom door pushes open and the other soldiers, who'd been talking to Jenny and Ian in the hall come in. Jenny and Ian follow, lingering in the doorway as a now-quelled Kitty rests against her mother's chest.
The soldiers talk amongst themselves, noting the rooms they've checked and regrettably noting that, just as Jenny and Ian had insisted, there was nothing to be found. One—the one who seems to be in charge—even mentions that Jenny and Ian seem truthful.
Her eyes meet Jenny's as the soldiers explain that the grounds will be searched—the cellar and the barn, any wagons they have, even the chicken coup—anywhere a man can hide. At that, Jenny scoffs and shakes her head, muttering something about it all being a waste of time, but it's their time to waste, not hers.
"And in here? What about in here?" One of the soldier's hands presses against the wardrobe, his palm flattening against the wood. "You looked here?"
Claire watches, sitting there numbly, as the soldier's hand moves to the wardrobe's latch as the other—again, the one who seems to be in charge—makes a quip about ladies' clothing not being of interest to him.
No.
No. No. No. No.
They can't look inside. He—
Her thoughts are interrupted as a blood curdling scream ripples through the house.
Maggie.
Jenny turns on her heels, roughly transferring Kitty to Ian before taking off running down the long corridor to the nursery. Maggie screams again, and this time, everyone follows.
Claire is the last one out of the room, her heart pounding wildly as she glances back at the wardrobe, its door slightly ajar. She can see the yellow fabric of one of her dresses—but that's all she can see.
A wave of relief washes over her and she hopes it isn't premature.
By the time she reaches the hall, Maggie is standing outside her doorway, sobbing as Jenny kneels before her. Behind her, standing at the threshold of the little girls' room, stands a young soldier looking nearly as bewildered as Maggie.
Jenny scoops her up and holds her, rocking her as she tells her again and again that she's alright as Maggie wails unintelligibly.
Claire's eyes shift to the red-faced soldier behind them. His eyes are full of guilt. "I was just…" He stops wincing as Maggie continues to scream. "No one checked...so I…I thought…"
The soldier who seems to be in-charge steps forward. "And what were you looking for? A bunch of little girls' dresses and bonnets? Maybe a doll?"
It's not unimaginable that someone could hide in the nursery—just as there was in every bedroom, there was a wardrobe that could easily fit a grown man.
Jenny turns, her face full of rage. "I think ye've done enough here and I think we've been more than patient with ye. That alone should prove our loyalty." Looking between them all, she rises, and once more, despite her small stature, she seems to rise above them all. "Now, I will kindly ask that you leave so that I can properly tend to my terrified children."
The soldier who'd been in Claire's room nods and the one in charge makes a gesture to the others before turning to the stairs. "We'll just continue to search the grounds—"
"And ye'll get no objection from me," Jenny says plainly. "As long as you stay out of my nursery."
They all nod, filing down the stairs like children who've just been caught red-handed stealing from the cookie jar.
Claire doesn't hear anymore. Her heart beats too loudly, thumping so loudly she's sure that everyone around her can hear it—and though the soldiers are leaving, their backs turned to her, she stays rooted in place until the house goes still and her heartbeat slows.
Jamie.
Rushing forward, she closes the door, then quickly makes her way to the wardrobe, pulling it open and grabbing at the dresses that cover him, glad that the thick drapes are drawn.
"Are you alright?"
Jamie winces—his pain more than evident. Nonetheless, he nods. "Fine, Sassenach," he tells her, doing his best to be stoic. "Jest fine."
She reaches for him, wrapping her arms around him as she tries to help him up, struggling to do so.
Finally, she gets him out and he drapes his arm around her shoulders, leaning on her as he lets her help him back to bed.
"You're bleeding—"
"Och—"
"Jamie—"
"It's fine."
"It's not. I need new bandages and—"
Jamie groans and looks away as she reaches for a rag to tear into strips. "I'm fine."
"No—"
His face darkens and he looks away, turning his head on his pillow. "They should 'ave killed me," he tells her, his voice hoarse from the pain. "It would 'ave been better."
"No," Claire says, her voice firm and adamant. "It would not have been. Not for me. Not for any of us."
"Ye'd 'ave been safe. You and the bairn. Fergus. Jenny and her family. Ye'd all 'ave been safe had I died."
"I refuse to believe that."
"They'll be back. Ye'll see. They won't—" He stops, wincing. "Sassenach, they—"
"Well, they won't be back tonight."
He looks at her, then sighs, pressing his eyes closed. "Aye. No' tonight."
Jamie sits quietly as she cuts new bandages and pours water from the butcher at their bedside into the basin—it's not warm, but it's not cold either.
She cleans him up and changes his bandages, and is both relieved and unnerved to find only one of the wounds reopened. She takes her time with that one—cleaning it and wrapping it—and all the while, Jamie stays quiet.
"They were so afraid," he murmurs the second Claire's eyes meet his. "Jenny's brains—"
"I think the only reason Wee Jamie didn't make an appearance is because he had Fergus with him."
"Aye, Fergus is good wi' the lad."
Claire offers a warm smile and a nod. "He is."
"We canna keep havin' nights like this one, ye ken? It's no' fair to—"
"It'll die down," she says, looking back to the wound and pressing her fingers to it to ensure the bleeding has stopped. "Eventually—"
"Bairns canna lie the way we can."
Claire looks up. She and Jenny worried about that—Wee Jamie might be able to pull it off, but Maggie could never. "We'll think of something," she tells him. "We have to."
Jamie huffs and nods—his eyes are distant.
"Lay back," she tells him once she's checked his bandages for the third time. "Take it easy and—"
"I canna travel now."
"No," she murmurs slowly as he eases himself back. "No, that would not be advised."
"But soon—"
"Perhaps."
"I dinna ken if I'll be ready before the bairn comes—"
Swallowing hard, she adjusts his pillow. "Ready for what?"
"To leave."
"Jamie—"
"We'll go… somewhere." He sighs. "I dinna ken where, but—" His voice halts as he winces. "You and me, the bairn an' Fergus, we… we canna stay."
She nods. More than anything she wants to stay at Lallybroch and build their life, but she knows that Jamie is right. Staying will put everyone else at risk—and Jamie was right before, the redcoats will not give up. "We could… sail for the colonies."
Jamie stares at her for a moment, then offers a curt nod. "Aye. The colonies. That's… a far ways away, Sassenach."
"I know," she murmurs, deciding not to tell him just how long it'll take, remembering his seasickness and how long the journey felt. "But ships are leaving all of the time."
"Aye. They are."
"Jenny said something about you having an uncle who'd always wanted to go to the colonies."
"Hector."
"Perhaps we could all go."
"It'd be nice to 'ave some family there."
"It would be," she murmurs, a soft smile tugging onto her lips at that thought. "The baby will be here in November—"
"The redcoats are less likely to be patrolling in the winter months," Jamie tells her, a smirk edging across his face. "Too cold fer their delicate English sensibilities."
Claire laughs. "You forget I'm English."
"No," he says as he reaches for her hand, taking it in his as wrapping his fingers around it. "I dinna forget. It's jest…" He takes a slow and labored breath as he tries to pretend he's in less pain than he's in. "Ye are a rare woman, Sassenach."
"Well, I'd say that we share a rare love."
"Aye."
"And I'll be happy to love you here or in the colonies or… on the moon or…" Jamie laughs and winces, and her stomach tightens, hating to see him in such pain. "I've heard that February is a good time to sail."
"That seems so far away."
"It is," she murmurs. "But then again, it's just around the corner."
Jamie nods as his eyes close. Claire lays down beside him, carefully cocooning herself around him as she prays for the second time that night, this time praying that February comes quickly.