It was extremely late by the time Jamie arrived back in Edinburgh. So late, or early depending on how you looked at it, that all of the patrons at Madame Jeanne's had either gone home or retired for the evening. Which was all well and good to Jamie, for at least there was no one around to smell his ale-soaked clothes as he trudged through the parlor and up the stairs to his room. The 'accident' at Lord Dundas' warehouse had shaken him. However, it had given him the adrenaline needed to finish his task there and make it home before dawn. Now he just needed sleep. When he arrived in his room, he peeled off his wet clothes and fell into bed.

However, he didn't fall asleep right away as his mind was still too occupied with going over the members of his smuggling crew, trying to decide which one could possibly be a spy for the crown. It surely seemed that someone among them wanted him dead. First, the fire, and now this. He had narrowly missed being crushed by those falling barrels tonight. He was still trying to decide which of the six men was set against him when he finally drifted off.

A few hours later, as Jamie was lying in bed, he felt a wisp of air across his face as if something moved nearby. Fearing it might be his attacker, he slowly opened his eyes. Instead, his gaze was met with a vision of loveliness - his wife, Claire. She was laughing and smiling tenderly down at him. He stared at her in adoration, but he did not move. He did not reach for her. He wanted this moment to last as long as it could. It had been twenty years, but she was just as beautiful as the day they wed.

After some time, however, he could not help himself and arose. She was like a siren. The magnetism between them was too strong and he was drawn closer towards her. He was almost within arm's reach. He took one step, and then another. He heard a sound, a faint roaring. He took the last step, and she disappeared.

He woke with a start, sitting bolt upright in his bed, a cold sweat glistening on his skin. For a moment he forgot where he was. He felt around in the bed for Claire but, of course, she was not there. She hadn't been there for two decades. It had been that same dream of Claire that seemed to be coming to him more often lately. The dream seemed to get more and more real every time. He blinked away the image of her from his mind, but she would be forever imprinted on his heart.

Jamie groggily glanced around. Oh yes, he was in his room at Madame Jeanne's. The morning light was growing outside. It must be almost time to get up. The serving girl would arrive with his breakfast soon. However, he didn't feel very hungry. The longing in his heart for Claire overpowered any other feeling he might have had at the moment.

Even though he had only had a few hours of sleep he was still obligated to be at the print shop on time. He rose from his bed and proceeded with his morning ablutions, preparing himself for another day slaving over his printing press. He was just about finished dressing when his breakfast arrived. Still unable to eat, however, he thanked the girl and told her to take it downstairs to the ladies of the establishment. They could all probably use an extra bite for breakfast.

Haphazardly tying his stock about his neck, Jamie grabbed his tricornered hat and descended the stairs. As he passed through the drawing room he happened upon Madame Jeanne.

"Monsieur Malcolm," she greeted him with a sly smile, "Bonjour."

"Bonjour, Madame Jeanne," he replied, neutrally, in practiced French.

"Oh, let me fix that for you," she offered, approaching him and intimately reaching up to his neck. "There," she said as she finished, "Cannot have you strolling along High Street with your stock half done."

"Well," replied he, trying to dispel the cozy domestic intimacy of the moment, "ye have the advantage of peering directly at it."

"Or perhaps it takes a woman's touch to do things properly," she said flirtatiously.

"I'll no argue that matter," he replied with a smile that did not reach his eyes.

"A wise man," she teased.

Jamie turned to leave. He stepped out into the morning sun and pulled the door shut behind him. As he strode down High Street, on his way to the print shop, he nodded greetings to his fellow Dunediners. Passing the local baker's shop, he caught a whiff of the sweet-smelling aroma and his empty stomach grumbled audibly. Just then the baker's boy exited the shop, loaves of bread under his arms and a basket of rolls and pastries in his hands. Jamie stopped the lad and gave him two pence for a one penny roll. With a big grin the young lad pocketed the extra and went on his way. Jamie ate the roll as he continued down High Street.

When he reached Carfax Close and was about to cross, he had to stop for a drayman's cart to pass. In its wake was a strange looking – leaf, was it? A draft blew the 'leaf' up and it landed smack in the middle of Jamie's chest, right over his heart. Covering it with his hand, Jamie grabbed ahold of it to take a look. Examining the object, he found it to be some sort of clear baker's wrapper - maybe? He lifted it to his nose and detected a nutty sweet smell and something that reminded him of – Claire. This thought caused him to give the thing a curious look. After a long moment he stuffed it into his sporran, intending to inspect it again later.

He continued down Carfax Close and as he approached his print shop a smile spread across his face. He was proud of the business he had built here for himself in Edinburgh – both licit and illicit. He stopped to admire his sign, licking his thumb to rub a spot of mud off it. He climbed the stairs and entered the shop, ready to start his day.

….oOo….

Claire stepped off the coach in Edinburgh at the end of the Royal Mile near Holyrood house. She was very hungry, having passed many hours in the coach since her early morning breakfast. Now that she was away from the scrutinizing eyes of her fellow travelers, she found an open bench and sat down to rest and enjoy the last of her stash of journey cake: Peanut butter and jelly on white bread. She pulled it out and carefully unwrapped it. It was considerably the worse for wear, but it was delicious.

As she enjoyed her sandwich, Claire reminisced about all the times she made such fare for Brianna's lunch box. Not wishing to dwell on those memories, she began to take in her surroundings instead. She had been here before, twenty plus years ago, but not much had changed.

She swallowed the last rich, sweet bite of her old life, and crumpled the wrapper in her hand. Glancing around to make sure no one was looking, Claire let the bit of plastic film fall to the ground. Wadded up, it rolled a few inches on the cobbles, crinkling and unfolding itself as though alive. The light wind caught it, and the small transparent sheet took sudden wing, scudding over the gray stones like a leaf.

The draft of a set of passing wheels sucked it under a drayman's cart; it winked once with reflected light, and was gone, disappearing without notice from the passersby. Claire wondered whether her own anachronistic presence would cause as little harm.

The final step of her journey was now ahead of her, so she got up. Catching the attention of a passing baker's boy, she said, "Pardon. I'm looking for a printer. Uh, Mr. Malcolm... Alexander Malcolm."

The boy's face screwed up in thought and then relaxed, "Aye, just down the way and to the left. Carfax Close, madam." And hitching his loaves up under his arm with a nod, he plunged back into the crowded street.

Claire walked deliberately down the street looking for Carfax Close. The further she went the more excited and nervous she became. When she found the close she was looking for, she stopped to appraise her appearance in a nearby shop window. Her cheeks were flushed from her walk in the cool air, but her hair was mussed from the long ride in the coach. Tucking a few strands back into her bun she decided it would just have to do. She took a deep breath and stepped under the archway of the alley and entered Carfax Close.

A group of boisterous children ran past her as she emerged on the other side of the arch. She turned to watch them in their playful zeal. When she turned back, she saw it: "A. Malcolm Printer and Bookseller." Her grin broadened as she approached the sign. Tears welled in her eyes as she reached out and touched the "A." Jamie was here, she could feel it in her bones. She looked up the stairs to the door, took a calming breath, lifted her skirts and climbed.

….oOo….

Jamie had just finished printing the latest seditious pamphlet he had been commissioned to do. Age had not been kind to his eyes, so he had to reach into his sporran for his glasses. As his fingers absently searched for the spectacles, they stumbled upon the curious wrapper he had stuffed in there earlier. He pulled it out along with his glasses so that he could examine it more closely.

It was certainly very odd – like paper that you could see through. It was smooth and somewhat sticky. He brought it to his nose to smell it again. It smelled of bread, he was certain, some sort of fruit, and a distinctly nutty smell that he couldn't quite place. And there it was again, that faint smell that reminded him of Claire. Tucking the item back in to his sporran, he closed his eyes and let the memories of her wash over him.

The daydream began: Claire stood there in the balcony of the print shop, smiling lovingly down at him. She looked like an angel dressed in blue with her hair pinned up and a halo of light around her. Jamie was awestruck by her beauty.

The rowdy shouts of children at play in the street tore him out of his reverie. He shook his head and rubbed his eyes to clear away the images in his mind. He mentally chastised himself for letting such fanciful thoughts take up so much of his time.

Sliding his spectacles on he went back to the task at hand: scrutinizing his latest printed pamphlet.

A few minutes later he heard the jingle of the bell upstairs and the clattering of the shop door as it shut. He figured it was Geordie, finally returned with the ash.

"That you, Geordie?" he called out, "Took you long enough."

No response, that was odd, Geordie was usually quick with a defensive retort, as well as much louder upon his entrance into the shop. He must be upset at being sent out on an errand so early.

"Where'd you go to get the ash?" Jamie goaded, "All the way to Glasgow?"

Still no response. Something in the air shifted. Jamie stopped reading the words on the page and perked up his ears. There was that smell again – Claire. That wrapper must have left some of the scent in the air. And then he heard it and he couldn't believe his ears.

"It isn't Geordie," came the melodious voice with the English accent he hadn't heard in twenty years, save in his dreams, "It's me... Claire."

Sassenach!? His eyes came away from the page and his jaw sagged. He slowly turned. His mind must be playing tricks on him, he concluded. There she was, just like in his dream, standing at the balcony, dressed in blue with her hair up and the daylight streaming in through the window behind her. She smiled down at him with joy and apprehension and tears filled her eyes.

Was he dreaming again? He could not decide. Then slowly the vision went black and he fell with a thud to the ground.

….oOo….

A/N: Dunedin comes from Dùn Èideann, the Scottish Gaelic name for Edinburgh.