December 1769
CATRÌONA POV
I cupped my hands together and blew warm air into them, rubbing them together to create more warmth, but it wasn't enough. It was absolutely freezing out, and we still hadn't reached the village yet. I had to guess that we were somewhere in Pennsylvania, perhaps, at least nearing the border with the New York colony, but from what I'd heard, Pennsylvania was a very large state and it could take us weeks to pass through completely.
"I estimate aboot a month," Jamie was saying to Ian and Elton as they poured over the map. "We should reach it by Hogmanay."
"How far's Hogmanay, then?" Ian asked him.
"Three weeks, give or take," Elton told him, glancing up at the snowflakes that were falling from the sky. "If we dinnae freeze te death first."
"Och, we'll no' freeze," Jamie told them. "Ye lads both ken a Scottish winter's much colder."
"Doesnae make me feel any warmer," I chimed in, pulling my tartan a little tighter around my body to keep warm. "Feels like we've been at this fer years."
"What if Rory isnae even alive anymore? How would he survive the journey?" Ian asked us. "We have warm claithes, but he doesnae."
"We will, at the verra least, try te find him," Jamie told the lads. "I've no' given up hope yet."
"Suppose we'll have te make this frigid journey at least a wee bit interestin'," I said, picking up a couple of sticks and putting them on my head. "Look - I'm a reindeer." Elton and Ian chuckled with amusement, and Jamie smiled slightly.
"Dashin' through the snow
In a one-horse open sleigh
O'er the fields we go,
Laughin' all the way!
Bells on bobtails ring
Makin' spirits bright.
What fun it is te laugh and sing
A sleighin' song tonight!
Oh, jingle bells! Jingle bells!
Jingle all the way!
Oh, what fun it is te ride
On a one-horse open sleigh, hey!
Jingle bells! Jingle bells!
Jingle all the way!
Oh, what fun it is te ride
On a one-horse open sleigh!"
"Tha's a fine song, Auntie!" Ian said with amusement as we continued walking.
"Singin's the best way te keep warm," I said to him. "That, and standin' by a fire."
"We'll make a fire at dusk, so hold onto yer antlers," Jamie told me with amusement.
We walked for a few more days, but had to stop when a winter storm started blowing in. During the day, the clouds were dark, and the snow piled up until it was up to our ankles. We did our best to build a shelter to keep out the worst of the wind, but the wind still found a way to break in. Jamie and Elton built a fire to keep us warm, though it stayed low because of the wind. Jamie and I were huddled up together under my tartan, while Elton and Ian shared another blanket.
"Ch-Christ," Elton shivered. "Had I kent it would be this c-cold… I'd have stayed back…"
"I w-wonder what the others are up te," said Ian.
"Bein' p-pregnant, probably," Elton answered him. "They'll l-look as if they've s-swallowed boulders." Ian let out a laugh, to which I made a face.
"Dinnae make fun of yer sisters," I told him. "Ye've never been pregnant before. I can assure ye, they're miserable as hell."
"Have ye ever b-been pregnant in December, Auntie?" Ian asked me.
"Archie was born in December, lamb," I told him. "A-and I was… early in my p-pregnancy wi' Elton and Maevis in December. And I s-suppose wi' Ginnie, too, though it w-wasnae as cold."
"I d-didnae ken Archie was b-born in December," Elton said to me.
"The twenty-first," I replied. "On Yule. And y-ye and Maevis were on Midsummer, and G-Ginnie was on Lughnasa, and B-Brèagha was on Samhain."
"Isnae th-that funny?" Ian asked. "I was b-born in N-November."
"Aye, y-yer finally s-sixteen," Jamie shivered beside me.
"I'm a m-man now," Ian replied.
"J-Jamie and I were… also born on sabbats," I said. "I'm the f-first of February, he's the f-first of May. Imbolc and B-Beltane."
"Just m-missin' spring… and autumn," said Elton. For a moment, we all just huddled close and tried to leech body heat off of each other, but it didn't seem to work, so I decided to sing another song - another that my mother used to sing - to brighten up spirits.
"The snow… is snowin'…
And the wind… is blowin'…
But I can w-weather the storm…
What d-do I care… how m-much it may storm…
I've got m-my love te k-keep me warm…
I c-cannot remember… the worst December…"
"I can," said Ian.
"J-just watch the icicles form…
What do I c-care if… icicles form…
I've got my l-love te keep me warm…"
"Lucky you, ye've got Dad. I've g-got my bloody cousin," said Elton in jest.
"Better than I h-had when I was yer age. I h-had yer uncle," I said, and Jamie chuckled beside me.
"Ye p-puir wee thing," he said. A strong gust of wind suddenly blew through our shelter and blew out the fire, extinguishing not only our heat, but our light as well. "God d-damn it!"
"Everraone h-huddle together," I said loudly over the roar of the wind, reaching out and grabbing Elton's shoulder. The four of us huddled closer together, feeling the warmth of the dying embers on our bellies as we tried to protect ourselves from the cold.
"If we d-dinnae die… I'll r-reinvent the lightbulb," Elton muttered softly.
"The wh-what?" asked Ian, and Elton must have remembered that Ian did not know about time travel.
"Er… n-nevermind," Elton told him.
Winter 1769-70
Indian Village
RORY POV
Several heavy logs were thrown into Rory's arms and he nearly stumbled, his legs still weak from walking and his whole body still sore from being beaten. He righted himself as the Indian man looked at him with a fierce expression and spoke to him in a harsh tone. "Carry wood to Tehwahsehwkwe's longhouse, Ehhaokonsah," the man ordered him, and then he pointed in the opposite direction. "That way."
"That way," Rory repeated softly, and then he slowly made his way in the direction the man had pointed him in. "Eh… Ehoo… Whatever the hell tha' even means."
"Ehhaokonsah!" exclaimed a child, and she was shushed by her mother and pulled away. Rory huffed quietly to himself and continued on. When he arrived at what he assumed was the longhouse, Rory's eyes fell on a pregnant woman who was groaning softly and rubbing her back. At least, he thought she was pregnant - he realised pretty quickly that she was not pregnant but instead, was holding a newborn bundled up in her arms.
"Excuse me," he said to her, startling her a little, and she turned to look up at him. "Are ye all right?" She nodded to him, still wincing, but smiled softly, which Rory returned. She was the first of these people to smile kindly at him. "Would ye like some more wood fer yer fire?"
"Put the logs over there," came the sharp voice of another man, which startled Rory a bit. "Then go down to the river and fetch us some water."
"Aye," said Rory, doing as he was told by setting down the wood. He slipped on a patch of ice as he turned to head towards the river, and the man yelled something furiously at him.
"Get up!" he shouted in English. "Get up, Ehhaokonsah!"
"Please…" Rory muttered, realising now that he could really feel the cold from the snow through his thin clothes. "I'm hurt… AGH!" The man grabbed him by his arm and yanked him up, and the woman shouted something at him in their language. The man growled loudly, then forced Rory to his feet and dragged him through the snow. They were followed by some teenagers and children, who threw sticks and stones and shouted things along with the nickname that they had given him. After what felt like forever, he was thrown into a different hut than he had been in before, falling down onto the cold, frozen ground. He let out a sore grunt, then crawled closer to the fire as he heard laughter outside of the hut. "Ehhaokonsah!" shouted a man, and then there was more laughter and more talk of this 'ehhaokonsah'. Rory groaned heavily again as he plopped down in front of the fire, closing his eyes and trying his best to warm up his sore, numb fingers and toes. He had been in the Indian village for about a week now, and yet he still didn't know what tribe they even were. What were the tribes that were located in the northern colonies again? He definitely knew the ones in New Jersey, as towns such as Manasquan, Manahawkin and even Hoboken were evidence of the Lenape and Powhatan tribes in the state. However, Rory didn't even know where they were, but he doubted it was New Jersey.
"I have an extra blanket if you are in need," said a French-accented voice, and Rory let out a small scream and jumped, whipping around to see a man huddled in the corner underneath several blankets.
"Who… Who are ye?" Rory asked the man, squinting into the darkness to try and make out who he was.
"You are British?" asked the French man, and Rory raised a brow curiously.
"Scottish," he said, recalling that in this time, Scottish was British - to everyone but Scotland, of course. "My name… is Rory Mackenzie."
"You are the man they have christened 'Dogface'," said the man, and Rory let out a small laugh.
"What?" he asked. "Is tha' what they've been callin' me?"
"Ehhaokonsah, yes. It means 'Dogface'," said the man.
"Ah," said Rory in response, settling back down. "Flatterin'."
"Hm. Rather appropriate nickname, since the Mohawk do not keep their whiskers and they are rather fond of dogs," said the man, and Rory's eyes widened a bit.
"They're Mohawk?" he asked with some fright. He'd heard about the Mohawk all right - most movies depicted them as monsters who scalped anyone who wasn't Mohawk. But if any of that was based on truth, then why hadn't they done that to him yet? Or this other man? "I… I see… Well, I… wouldnae have known it. They havenae been verra kind te me. Say… Do ye know where we are?"
"You're in the village they call Shadow Lake," said the man.
"Shadow Lake… Where is tha' exactly?" Rory asked him.
"The province of New York," said the Frenchman.
"New York?" he asked with raised brows, and then he chuckled with ironic amusement, lying back down on the ground. "Bloody New York…"
"Yes, close to the border of Canada territory," said the man, which only made Rory laugh with even more ironic amusement.
"Near the bleedin' border of Canada," he said. "Perhaps I'll make a visit te Niagara Falls while I'm here!" There was a small pause, and then the Frenchman spoke again.
"How did you come to be here?" he asked him.
"I suppose ye could say I walked here," said Rory, letting out another laugh. "From bloody North Carolina!" He shook his head, then looked over at the man. "What aboot you? Why are ye here?" The man sighed softly, looking away from Rory.
"I fell in love," he said softly, and Rory raised a brow.
"Yer… here because ye fell in love?" he asked the man, and he nodded. "Ye'll need te elaborate more, er…"
"My name is Père Alexandre Ferigault," said the Frenchman, his eyes somewhere off in the distant past. "I was born in a small village in France, but it does not exist now. I was called to the religious life and I studied in Lourdes. I came to Canada and lived among the Huron people and preached to them the word of God, and I baptised many. The Mohawk chief, Chief Tehwahsehkwe, invited me to live among them when he heard of me, and I could not reject such an invitation. The Mohawk have always been resistant to the word of God, so I lived among the Mohawk. However… I fell in love."
"Aye, as ye said, Father," said Rory, feeling tired by the man's slow voice.
"I lived with the Mohawk peacefully for quite some time. A year after I arrived at the village, I was struck with fever," Father Ferigault continued. "I was prepared to allow God to take me… until I felt a woman's hands upon me. Soft, cooling hands… She cared for me with the gentle touch of an angel."
"Aye, I know what ye mean," said Rory, smiling softly as he thought of Brèagha.
"Then, after I had recovered, there was… sin," continued Father Ferigault, causing Rory to raise his brows. He'd forgotten how stiff the Catholic Church was, being Presbyterian himself - if he could even call himself that. He did know, however, that Catholic priests were supposed to engage in celibacy, so any Catholic priest who laid with a woman would be considered 'in sin'. "You see, my son, her touch had awakened a desire I had long fought to suppress - an impure, unholy desire. I thought I had conquered the feeling… thought I was immune to temptation, only to discover how weak was my resolve."
"A woman stole yer heart," Rory said to him. "It's the auldest story in the book, Father. I dinnae ken any man who's ever been immune te love."
"Hm," Father Ferigault replied. "Our union created a child."
"And… tha' offended the Mohawk," said Rory, deducing the conclusion of the story.
"No, they welcomed both our union and the child with open arms," said Father Ferigault, surprising Rory a little. "They expected me to baptise the child, save its soul, but… I could not."
"Because it was born out of wedlock?" Rory asked him, and Father Ferigault shook his head.
"Many a bastard has been baptised," he said.
"So… why couldnae ye baptise the child?" Rory asked.
"I am not in a state of grace," said the Father. "I have broken my vows, and so, by the edicts of the church, I cannot perform the sacrament of baptism."
"Yeah, I doubt very much tha' the Mohawk are perturbed by the niceties of the church, Father," Rory said to him with a touch of sarcasm.
"No, but you see, Rory… I am," said the Father. "I have broken faith with my God and my calling. I know that I am damned. I will not also damn this child with the false blessing of a fallen priest." Rory scoffed at him.
"Yer a fool, ye ken tha'? Ye could be livin' the life ye want, but yer choosin' not te because of stubbornness," Rory said to him. "Who's the woman?"
"Her name is Johiehon, and I will choose to ignore that remark," said Father Ferigault a bit coldly.
"Right, right. Do ye still love her?" Rory asked him.
"I have prayed that my love for her would abate, that I would stop seeing her face in my dreams… That I would stop feeling the touch of her hand, stop smelling the rainwater perfuming her hair, stop hearing the gentle lilt of her laugh floating on the wind… But my prayers have gone unanswered," he said with pain, the desperation of love showing how in agony he truly was.
"I know exactly what ye mean," Rory said to him, sympathising only in the sense that he longed for a woman. "But unlike me, yer verra fortunate. Ye can have yer woman if ye want. I dinnae know if I'll ever see mine again." There was a rustling outside, and suddenly, the door to the hut opened to reveal two Mohawk men, who stormed right in and grabbed Father Ferigault.
"You are hidden here because of your dishonour," said one of them as the other stripped him of his clothes, leaving him nude. "You will go naked before the Lord, your God." The one speaking English nodded to the other, then helped him drag the Father out of the hut.
"Pray for me, Rory," said Father Ferigault, and then he disappeared.
It was many hours later when Rory was jolted awake by the sound of the hut opening and Father Ferigault being thrown onto the ground again. He groaned in pain, then laid relatively motionless as the Mohawk men closed the door behind him and secured it. "Father," said Rory quietly, so as not to startle him, and he sat up and saw a dark, shiny fluid on the face and neck of the man. "God… What have they done te ye?" Rory sat up and grabbed the jug of water, pouring a little onto a piece of cloth and gently touching the Father's wound. He hissed in pain, and Rory saw that his ear had been cut clean off. His stomach turned at the sight and he swallowed. "Bloody hell… Right, let me clean this." Father Ferigault didn't answer, but instead groaned in agony. "So sorry… No, no, let me finish." He pushed the Father's hand away, then tried to remember a prayer that his father, who was Catholic, had urged him to say nightly before he went to bed - until Donald Tanner died in Glasgow, of course:
"O Father of mercies and God of all comforts, we humbly beseech thee te visit and relieve the sick servant fer whom our prayers are desired. Look upon him wi' the eyes of thy mercy. Comfort him… wi' a sense of thy goodness." He silently crossed himself, and then he poured some water into a cup and brought it to the Father's lips. "Here… Drink." The Father took a small sip of the water before lying back down fully. "What happened?"
"I… was offered another chance… to baptise my child," said Father Ferigault tiredly. "My refusal offended them."
"What'll happen now?" Rory asked him.
"I… do not know," said Father Ferigault weakly. "They are taking a week… to decide my fate… if I continue to refuse…"
"Christ," said Rory, realising now that the stories of the Mohawk, though exaggerated, probably had an inkling of truth to them. "Here's a blanket. Ye should get some rest…" He covered the Father with the blanket, then sighed heavily to himself. Why wouldn't this man just pretend to baptise the kid? If the man was already damned as he claimed, why not enjoy what life had to offer him? Rory would never understand religious men. The bastard was lucky… At least his love was near. Rory's was somewhere far away, probably having no idea what had happened to him.
December 1769
CATRÌONA POV
When the wind died down, the four of us emerged from our shelter to find that the blizzard had passed, but had left behind a considerable amount of snow - an amount that would be immensely difficult for the horses to pass through. "How long do ye think it'll take fer us te start movin' again?" I asked Jamie as Ian and Elton went out into the snow.
"I dinnae ken," Jamie said with a heavy sigh, scratching his head. "'Tis four feet, at least."
"Hmm. And I dinnae imagine the cold will let up anytime soon. We'll have te trek through it eventually," I said to him.
"Aye, I agree. We'll take a day te think on it before we continue on," Jamie told me, and I nodded, sighing and leaning against him, crossing my arms across my chest.
"'Tis beautiful, though, and we've been through worse. Remember when the weather was changin' so rapidly on Hy-Brasil?" I asked him.
"How could I forget?" he asked me, smiling a little as he wrapped an arm around my shoulders. "We were taken te an elven village by a Viking. Sounds like a story of legend." I chuckled lightly.
"It does sound mad when ye say it out loud," I replied. "What was the wee elf's name tha' helped us? Ceana?"
"No, I think tha' was the lass who was the sister of the lad who looked like Cailean," Jamie said to me.
"Caeda?" I asked, thinking of the next name on my mind.
"I think tha's it," he replied.
"Funny wee thing, and everra time she blushed, her ears turned bright pink," I said. "Verra sweet lass… I wonder what became of her." Unfortunately, I likely already knew the answer - Caeda likely perished along with the rest of her people on Hy-Brasil. I sighed softly again, watching Ian and Elton as they collected wood for a fire. "Can we ever do right by any of our children?"
"Wha's that?" Jamie asked me, looking at me. "Do right by our children? What do ye mean?"
"At this point, we've abandoned everra one of them te some degree," I said. "Archie and Brèagha were left in Ireland… Maevis was sent away, Elton was put up fer adoption, Brian is buried alone in a cemetery in Paris…"
"We've no' abandoned Ginnie," Jamie told me. "She's safe wi' her brother and sisters."
"We've left her fer who kens how long," I replied. "What if… What if somethin' happens te one or both of us?"
"That willnae happen."
"But it might. Anythin' can happen, Jamie. And then what? She'll never ken us, and she'll have been abandoned just like our other children have. Can we ever not fuck up one of our children?"
"In terms of 'fucking up our children', I'd say they're doin' fine," Jamie told me, giving my shoulder a squeeze.
"They hardly ken us… I mean, Archie kens us the most because he's been wi' us, but the others… Brèagha and Maevis are pregnant, Maevis was attacked, Elton had te find out his parents are from the bloody eighteenth century and had te abandon all that he kent just te go after his sister… I suppose we havenae fucked Ginnie up yet, but she's young. I'm sure we'll find some way te do it. And dinnae even get me started on Brian, and Faith…"
"Brian was verra ill and wouldnae have survived. Ye ken that. As fer Faith… It wasnae yer fault. Ye did everrathin' right, but perhaps she would hae been verra unwell, like Brian. If tha' were the case… then I am glad she didnae live te suffer," he replied, wrapping one arm tightly around my shoulders and letting out a sigh. "And as fer our survivin' children… Have faith in yerself as a mother, Catrìona. No matter what's been done, all of them still love ye."
"Ye think Elton loves me?"
"He sees ye as his mother now, doesnae he?" I glanced back at Elton, who seemed to have paused in his wood collecting and was showing Ian how to build something. Ian seemed absolutely fascinated by this and was bringing Elton sticks and even using pieces of leather and rope to tie things together.
"What if we fail te bring Rory back?" I asked Jamie quietly. "Will Brèagha ever forgive us?"
"You did nothin' wrong," Jamie told me. "I… I can only hope she may find it in her heart te forgive me… But in truth, I dinnae think she ever will. Our relationship has… always been difficult."
"So ye've said," I said softly, recalling what Jamie had told me of his relationship with Brèagha in the years we were apart. It seemed that Brèagha had trouble forgiving him for, as she felt, leaving her behind and forgetting about her. For me, it was different - I was four hundred years in the future - but Jamie had been here the whole time, and yet… And yet, he hadn't written her, hadn't visited. It was a miscommunication on both ends, as she never wrote back when he did and he didn't want to force himself on her if she didn't want him to.
"I always think of what I could hae done differently," Jamie told me softly. "Perhaps I should have kept writin'. Perhaps I should have gone te Barra, perhaps I should have forced her te come and live wi' me in Edinburgh. I dinnae ken if she'd have resented me more or, in time, forgiven me."
"I dinnae see myself doin' anythin' different," I told him. "Ye tried te gain a sense of normalcy by livin' near Lallybroch wi' her and Archie, but…"
"…but then I marrit Laoghaire. 'Twas my fault she wanted te go back te Barra," Jamie finished for me. "Jenny told me I should have forced her te stay. Would tha' have worked, do ye think?"
"Brèagha is a stubborn lass. 'Tis hard te say. She's like me, in tha' sense. I imagine she'd have found any way te leave and go back te Barra," I replied. "Remember before we were marrit, how I'd wanted te leave? And I would have, had ye not convinced me te stay."
"I think ye and I remember those days verra differently," Jamie said to me a bit playfully. "I recall offerin' te help ye leave, no' convincin' ye te stay."
"Well, ye didnae do it in words, but in actions," I told him, turning to look at him. "After ye'd been beaten in place of Laoghaire… I asked if ye'd still help me leave, and ye said ye would, if it was what I wanted."
"And ye'd said ye didnae ken if it was what ye wanted, tha' ye could be persuaded te stay if ye had a reason," he told me, meeting my eyes. He had been a much younger man in those days, but still just as handsome. I could see that same look in his eyes as I did back then - longing, loving, lusting. "Is that why ye kissed me?"
"Huh?" I asked him. "I kissed you?"
"Aye, ye did," he told me with a cheeky grin. "When I was still tryin' te convince ye tha' leavin' Leoch would be a bad idea, while ye were tendin' te a bullet wound in my shoulder. Yer eyes met mine, those… bonny grey eyes, wi' the silver of moonlight in 'em…" I felt the warmth of his hand on my face, instantly melting away the cold. "Ye didnae say anythin'. Next thing I knew, I found ye nearin' me, then those bonny lips…" He lightly touched my lips with his in a delicate kiss. "…touched mine… Warm, soft… Ye said ye were sorry, and tha' ye shouldnae have done it."
"And ye werenae sorry I did," I told him, recalling that night rather vividly. "Truth te be told… I wasnae actually sorry I did it, either."
"I didnae think so," Jamie told me, smiling a little, and I, too, chuckled lightly.
"I dinnae think I've ever been less sorry fer such an action," I said playfully, wrapping my arms around his neck as he took me into his arms. "And te this day, I think tha' kiss was one of the best decisions I've ever made."
"Is it? And no' decidin' te marry me?" he teased me, and I scoffed.
"There was certainly no decision on my part te marry ye, only te comply wi' Colum's wishes," I told him. "But if it had been my choice… Well, perhaps I would have waited longer, but… I would have chosen te marry ye." He leaned forward and pressed his lips against mine.
"I kent I was in love wi' ye the moment first set eyes on ye," he told me, and I chuckled a little.
"Oh, aye? Was tha' before or after I hit ye wi' my bow?" I asked him.
"Hm. Tha' hurt more than I let on," he confessed, and I couldn't help but laugh.
"Aye, I meant it te. I was tryin' te get away from ye at the time. Daft decision, on my part," I said, drawing him nearer for another kiss. We paused for a moment, only looking into each other's eyes in silence, before we leaned in for another kiss. Suddenly, an icy hand seemed to slap both of our faces, and then the impish laughter that followed told us that it wasn't an icy hand - it was a snowball. I let out a screech and jumped away from Jamie to shake the cold out of my clothes, then looked up to see Elton and Ian cackling with a little contraption that resembled a miniature catapult.
"Lads!" Jamie shouted at them, and I raised a hand to touch his arm.
"I think there's a better way te punish them fer such a transgression, dinnae ye?" I asked him, and he raised an eyebrow curiously at me. I bent down and scooped up a handful of snow, then shaped it into a ball and showed it to him. I then looked back at Ian and Elton, who's eyes were wide as they realised what was about to happen. "The two of ye have just made a verra grave mistake. I hope ye ken what ye signed up fer."
"Run! Behind the trees!" Elton shouted, and the two lads got up and slipped in the snow as I then threw my snowball at them, hitting Elton square in the back. The snowball fight between the two young lads and the two experienced adults had been initiated.
Christmas Eve, 1769
The snow hadn't melted, but we couldn't afford to wait, so after a day or two, we trudged on through the snow. Elton actually started building structures out of the deep snow for us to shelter in at night, which concerned Jamie, but I trusted our resourceful son and encouraged Jamie to not let on about his hesitance. About a week after the big storm, Elton approached us in mine and Jamie's ice shelter one night and cleared his throat, giving me a small item wrapped in leaves. "What's this?" I asked him.
"Just a wee present," he replied, not meeting my eyes. "'Tis Christmas Eve, after all."
"Is it really?" I asked him, looking down at the makeshift package in my hands, and I opened it to see an ornately hand-carved Brigid's Cross carved from a thick branch, and I ran my fingers over it delicately. "Blessed Bride… It's beautiful, Elton…"
"Maevis mentioned ye both believed in the ancient Celtic gods and goddesses, and te me, ye remind me of Brigid," Elton told me. "I-I'm Presbyterian, but the church we attended was the Church of St. Bridget in Aberdalgie. We were taught tha' she was a patron saint of healers."
"She was, and a goddess of healers," I told him with a soft smile, and then I reached for him and took his hand. "Thank ye, Elton. I'll cherish this dearly." He nodded subtly, and then he reached into his pocket and pulled out another package, which he then handed to Jamie.
"I wasnae sure what te carve fer ye, so I thought this would do," he said to his father, and we both watched as Jamie opened his own package to reveal a similarly carved wooden token to mine, only Jamie's had a thistle on it. "A Scottish thistle, te remind ye of home."
"Christ, lad," said Jamie, admiring the carving with a proud smile on his face, and then he looked up at our son. "It'll do nicely. 'Tis nice te have a piece of Scotland wi' me. Thank ye, lad." Elton nodded a little.
"Happy Christmas te ye both," he said to us, briefly glancing up to meet our eyes.
"Happy Christmas te ye as well. I wish I'd known, I'd have figured out a way te make ye somethin' as well," I said to him, but he shook his head.
"It's all right. Just bein' here as my parents is enough," Elton told us, a small smile forming on his lips. "I… I ken I seemed like I… like I didnae want anythin' te do with ye fer a while. It was hard, havin' te… come te terms wi' the idea tha' I had different parents. Even though I kent I was adopted."
"We cannae blame ye, lamb," I told him, touching his arm and giving it a gentle squeeze. "We'll take whatever ye give us and be grateful fer it. Ye've been through a lot, and havin' everrathin' ye thought ye kent ripped out from under yer feet… Well, I've been there before myself. Imagine my surprise when I learned my father was a time traveller, too."
"Your father?" Elton asked me, raising a brow curiously.
"A story fer another time," I told him. "Thank ye fer these wonderful gifts, Elton. Yer father and I will cherish them always." Elton nodded a little, then accepted a small and brief embrace from me. "Go and get some sleep, a leannan. We've a long day ahead of us tomorrow." Jamie and I watched as he exited the ice shelter, then exchanged a small look with one another, both of us smiling subtly. I then looked down at the gift Elton had given me, adding it to my personal pouch, where the small carving of a raven that Archie had made for me when he was a child was also stored. The protection of the Morrìgan, and now the protection of Brigid.
