8 December, 1769
River Run, North Carolina
MAEVIS POV
Maevis was asked to see Jocasta in her study shortly after breakfast. She couldn't help but wonder what Jocasta wanted to see her about, but she had a feeling that it had something to do with marriage. Jocasta had backed off a little once Brèagha got 'engaged' to Lord Grey, but Maevis should have known that eventually, Jocasta would be on her to follow in her sister's footsteps. When she reached the study, she cleared her throat and knocked on the door, and they opened to reveal Ulysses. "Your niece has arrived, Mistress," he said, announcing Maevis's presence.
"Ah, Maevis! Come in, my darlin'," said Jocasta with a sickly sweet tone. Maevis entered the study, her hand resting protectively on her belly, and was almost surprised to see Mr. Forbes standing beside Jocasta.
"Ah, there she is!" said Mr. Forbes with pride, but Maevis only raised her brow.
"Um… Good afternoon, Mr. Forbes," said Maevis, struggling with a polite curtsy. "What's going on, Auntie?"
"Mr. Forbes has a question he wishes te put te ye, dear," said Jocasta, gesturing to where she assumed Mr. Forbes was.
"Indeed, I do!" said Mr. Forbes. "Your aunt and I have come to a settlement. Your brother is te inherit Fraser's Ridge, your elder sister is to become the wife of Lord Grey and have no need of this grand estate, leaving you next in line te inherit River Run. I have agreed to marry ye and accept your child as my own in exchange for your inheritance of River Run upon the death of your aunt." He seemed happy to be sharing this news, but Maevis was simply confused. She stared at Mr. Forbes blankly while trying to process what he had just said before turning her attention to Jocasta.
"You… You agreed to this?" Maevis asked her softly, and Jocasta scoffed lightly.
"I have! Ye dinnae sound sae grateful," she said to Maevis, and Maevis scoffed in return.
"I wasn't consulted on any of this," Maevis said.
"And why would ye? Ye've limited options. Yer bairn will be here soon, and I will not have it born a bastard," Jocasta said to her, and this news angered Maevis even further.
"Mr. Forbes, I sincerely apologise for all the effort you've gone through, but I'm afraid it was for nothing. I can't marry you," Maevis said to Mr. Forbes, trying her best to remain calm, and Mr. Forbes was the one to scoff next.
"The agreement has already been signed," said Mr. Forbes.
"Aye, it has, and Mr. Forbes willnae take no fer an answer. I'll see ye wed within a fortnight," Jocasta said to Maevis.
"I already said no. I didn't sign and agree to anything!" Maevis exclaimed. "You can't do this! You don't own me! You can't just sign me away to someone!"
"Ye have been entrusted te my care, so I'm afraid yer wrong, lass," said Jocasta with an irritating tone of amusement. "Come, it willnae be sae bad! Ye'll be an heiress te River Run. All of this beautiful land will be yers."
"I don't want it. I never have!" Maevis shouted at her, startling Mr. Forbes a little.
"Maevis! A lady doesnae raise her voice in such a manner," Jocasta scolded her.
"As everyone has never failed to let me forget, I am not a lady," Maevis snapped back at her, and then she looked back up at Mr. Forbes. "I'm sorry, sir, but I will not marry you."
"And what of your child? Do ye want it to be raised a fatherless bastard?" Mr. Forbes demanded from her, clearly annoyed with Maevis's behaviour.
"I was, and I'd say I turned out pretty okay," Maevis spat back at him, and Jocasta made a noise.
"Oh! How cruel te say aboot yer father, lass!" Jocasta exclaimed.
"I didn't say it was his fault! Things happened and he wasn't there, but that wasn't his fault. Still, I was brought up without a father and I turned out fine, and so will my children, because there's two of them!" Maevis snapped back at her.
"Two? My goodness, then ye must marry Mr. Forbes. Ye cannae care fer two bairns all on yer own, and ye certainly cannae ask yer parents te take responsibility fer yer mistake," Jocasta said to her.
"My mistake? My mistake? I was raped, damn you! This was done to me! And I will not stand here and be blamed for what happened to me," Maevis shouted back at her, and then she turned on her heel and stalked quickly out of the room.
"Maevis! Maevis, ye come back here right this minute!" Jocasta shouted after her, but Maevis wasn't listening. She ran as fast and as far away from Jocasta as she could get, which brought her to the stables. There were two grooms, Jerome and Argus, brushing the horses and they both watched her curiously as she collapsed on top of a haystack and cried.
"Take a picture! It'll last longer!" Maevis snapped at them both, startling them, and they both left the stables as quickly as they could. God, why was Jocasta so mean? Why was everyone so mean? All Maevis wanted to do was be left alone, but all these people had to meddle in her damn life and judge her! Why couldn't they just let Maevis be? She wasn't hurting anyone by wanting to be left alone… Of course, Jocasta would argue that she would be hurting her children by not giving them a father, but if Maevis really couldn't handle her babies on her own, then her family would help her, and be glad to do it. Her mother had made that very clear when she'd first learned that Maevis was pregnant. Why did Jocasta care so much anyway about what Maevis wanted?
"I have agreed to marry ye and accept your child as my own in exchange for your inheritance of River Run…"
Of course. Archie had said something about Jocasta trying to pawn River Run off on one of her nephew's kids ever since she learned she had kin. Archie had also made a valid point - her own children couldn't be bothered with her, so Jocasta had to find someone to inherit River Run. After all, Jocasta was already up in age and wasn't getting any younger, and so far, all of her supposed heirs had rejected her offer, including Maevis. But most importantly, Mr. Forbes mentioned specifically that he would be getting Maevis's inheritance if he accepted her children as his own. He had been all over Brèagha, and now, suddenly she's engaged to a Lord, so Maevis, the younger sister, was his second option. Of course… That was the only reason he wanted to even marry Brèagha in the first place, and his plans were foiled when Brèagha became 'engaged' to Lord Grey. Well, if he wanted River Run, then he would have to find some other way to get it because he certainly wouldn't be getting it through Maevis.
"M-M-Miss Fraser?" came a voice, causing Maevis to gasp a little in surprise. She looked up to see Geordie standing in the doorframe of the stables, and she quickly wiped her eyes on her sleeve.
"Geordie," she said. "We've got to stop meeting like this."
"Are y-you w-well, Miss Fraser? Argus and J-Jerome…" Geordie said, and Maevis scoffed a little.
"They were staring at me, and I don't like being stared at," she said, pulling her knees to her chest, and then she let out a small sigh. "I didn't mean to snap at them. I'm just… I'm just so annoyed."
"Is it y-y-your sss-sister?" Geordie asked her, but Maevis shook her head.
"No… Not this time," she said. "No, it's my aunt this time. She's trying to marry me off to Mr. Forbes, the lawyer guy, and I don't want to get married. I certainly don't want to be forced into marriage, either."
"M-Mr. Forbes?" Geordie asked her. "H-He… He's well endowed. H-He'd be able to s-support you, Miss F-Fraser."
"And that's fine, but I don't want that," Maevis replied a bit shortly. "And please, Geordie, call me Maevis. 'Miss Fraser' just… It doesn't suit me. 'Miss Fraser' is my sister, not me. I haven't even been a Fraser all my life."
"N-no?" Geordie asked her, scratching the bottom of his head awkwardly.
"Nope," she replied. "I was a Fowlis first. It's my mother's maiden name. When it was just us, I took her name, and… then I was… taken in by another family during the war and… my surname was 'Murray' for a while. I didn't become a Fraser until… Well, I guess about a year ago."
"W-was that when y-y-you were reunit-ted with your f-family?" Geordie asked her, really straining when speaking, which Maevis noted. She sighed softly and patted the ground next to her.
"You don't have to speak if it's too hard, Geordie. I'll just… tell you my story, and you can listen," she told him, watching as he nodded and then silently joined her at her side. "I was born in Scotland, initially, but… things happened and… we ended up in the Colonies. It was just me and my mom and… and Tom. He was my mother's fiancé before she married my dad, but something happened and… Well, I guess it doesn't really matter. But anyway, I was raised in New Jersey, and the family called me Eleanor - or 'Ellie' for short. They called me that for so long that… I forgot my actual name. Then I got a letter from my mom telling me everything, so I came in search of my family. I found my twin brother, Elton - you haven't met him yet, but you will I guess when my parents come back with Rory… Anyway, I went to my dad's family's home which is an estate in Scotland called Lallybroch and they reminded me that my actual surname is 'Fraser'. It's been growing on me, but… I've had so many names already that it's been hard for me to find out who I really am. Am I a healer, like my mother? A leader, like my father? Am I an artist like my sister, or I guess a landowner like my aunt? I just…" She sighed softly, resting her hand on her belly and looking down at it. "I don't know."
"Well," said Geordie. "I c-can tell you one thing…" Maevis lifted her head to look at him, one brow raised curiously. "You're beautiful, and I know y-you'll be a wonderful m-mother. Y-you're already doing s-so much to protect your child." Maevis smiled a little, turning her attention back to her belly when she felt a small kick against her hand.
"There's two of them, actually," Maevis said softly. "I wonder if they're two girls, or two boys, or even one of each. I haven't even thought about names yet… I sort of like… natural-sounding names, like River or Oleander… Or flowers, like Rose, or Lily. Maybe animals, like Wren, or Sable, or even Lark. There's a little lark that wakes me up at the window every morning… I like herbs, too, like Lavender, or Rosemary." She smiled when she felt another little foot kick her hand, and then she felt the little foot of the other baby pressing against her belly.
"Are you going to Scarborough Fair?
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme…
Remember me to one who lives there,
For she was once a true love of mine…
Tell her to make me a cambric shirt…
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme…
Without no seam or needlework,
Then she'll be a true love of mine…"
"You've such a b-beautiful voice," Geordie said to her, his cheeks turning a little pink. "I'll have t-to add 's-singer' to the list, as well."
"So I'm a singer, I'll be a wonderful mother, and… I'm beautiful," Maevis said, repeating Geordie's list and smiling a little sadly. "You're too kind to me, Geordie… Kinder than I deserve."
"And wh-why wouldn't y-you deserve it?" Geordie asked her, and she sighed softly.
"There's a lot of things I don't deserve," she told him. She didn't say anything for a few moments, just sat in silence while Geordie awkwardly sat beside her, occasionally clicking his tongue or twitching. When he wasn't looking, Maevis glanced up at him and took in his features. He was a very handsome young man. He had mousy brown hair tied back like most men did, and he didn't exactly have a strong build, but he wasn't as lean as that George Underwood or even Mr. Forbes, who never worked a day in their lives. Geordie was a man accustomed to hard labour, and he did it despite having Tourette's, which must have made it really difficult for him. Caoimhe had mentioned that he sometimes hurt himself, and in fact, accidentally stabbed himself with a knife via a tic when they first met him. Like Maevis, Geordie, too, had to endure the scrutiny of society, as he was considered 'broken' and therefore should be hidden away - hence why he was never at any gatherings or dinner parties. No. Do not look at him that way. You will not get this poor man tied up in your shit. "I should probably get inside… I'll have to face my aunt eventually, and I can't hide forever."
"Oh, a-all right," Geordie replied, a little caught off guard. He jumped up and helped Maevis to stand, which she thanked him for quietly. "C-Can I walk you b-back?"
"Um… No, that… that's all right, Geordie, but… thanks," she replied, trying hard not to meet his eye. "I think I'm going to sneak in through the kitchen and then use the servants' stairs so my aunt doesn't see me." She meant for it to be a joke, but she couldn't laugh. "I'll.. I'll see you, Geordie."
"A-as you wish," he said, nodding to her and stepping aside. "G-good day to you.. M-Maevis." She paused when he said her name, which sounded sweet coming off of his tongue, but she had to push that thought away. She continued on, this time not looking back over her shoulder.
About an hour into a well-deserved nap, the door to the bedroom that Maevis and Brèagha shared was flung open, startling Maevis awake, and when she lifted her tired head to see who was invading her privacy, she saw a very angry-looking Jocasta with Ulysses behind her. Ulysses's eyes widened and he looked away when he saw that Maevis was in her shift. "Your niece is in her bed, Mistress," said Ulysses, backing out of the room.
"It isnae her bed, it is my bed, and she would do well te remember that!" Jocasta said angrily. "Maevis! How dare ye be so ungrateful? I have worked tirelessly te find ye a husband that would be willin' te take in yer wee bastards, and ye would dare te say no?"
"My children are not 'bastards'!" Maevis snapped back at her, climbing out of bed and wrapping herself in a wrapper, and Jocasta scoffed.
"If ye dinnae marry before they're born, they will be!" Jocasta spat back at her.
"And? Why do you care so much? They're not your children!" Maevis demanded from her.
"Why? Because yer kin, and I promised yer father I would see ye marrit! Dinnae ye think he'd be sae ashamed te see ye actin' like a wee ungrateful brat? All of ye, ye've too much of yer mother! At least yer sister is doin' as she ought te," said Jocasta irritably, blindly finding her way to the couch. "Ulysses!"
"He left the room because I'm in my shift," said Maevis, letting out a huff and leading Jocasta to the couch.
"At mid-day?" Jocasta asked of her with surprise.
"I've a terrible headache," Maevis told her, which was a little bit of the truth. Her head had been bothering her, but mostly since the proposal earlier that morning. "Look, I really appreciate that you care about my appearance, I do. But I just… I don't want to get married. I'm too young!"
"Too young? How auld are ye?" Jocasta asked her.
"I'm twenty," Maevis told her, and Jocasta scoffed.
"Many a lass has marrit much younger than ye are now, myself included," Jocasta said to her. "I was sixteen, and widowed by the time I was yer age."
"That's terrible," Maevis said, wondering how she would have felt if she had married at sixteen and became a widow at twenty. "Did you love him?"
"Love?" Jocasta asked her, a bit taken aback. "I… Why… It's been sae long since I've thought of John." Her anger seemed to boil down first to a simmer before it started to evaporate. "He died of a flux. I had just had a bairn - our daughter, Clementina."
"So you do have children?" Maevis asked her, now genuinely curious about Jocasta's life before River Run - and also grateful to be changing the direction of the conversation.
"Oh, aye. Three daughters," Jocasta told her. "And all of them were as fierce as they were bonny… much like yerself and yer sister. They were always defyin' me everra chance they got."
"Are they… no longer around?" Maevis asked her, taking note of Jocasta's word choice. Jocasta's eyes, though glazed over with white, told that what had happened to her daughters was tragic, but her face was steeled, as if she were protecting herself from the memory.
"No," said Jocasta softly. "Clementina was lost in the days followin' tha' dreadful day at Culloden, along wi' her family. And my second daughter, Seonag… met a similar fate. She was my daughter wi' my second husband, Hugh. He died in a hunting accident. I was twenty-six." She paused, her lips closing firmly.
"And… the third?" Maevis asked her. Jocasta, at first, didn't say anything for several long moments, until she finally spoke again.
"Morna," she said softly. "The daughter I shared wi' my third husband, Hector."
"You built River Run with him, didn't you?" Maevis asked her.
"Aye," said Jocasta. "We fled Scotland followin' the devastatin' loss at Culloden."
"Did… Did Morna come with you?" Maevis asked, but somehow, she already knew the answer. River Run had a mausoleum where Hector Cameron was buried, and it also had a place for Jocasta when her time came. However, there was no other cemetery, mausoleum, memorial or anything to a Morna Cameron.
"She did not," Jocasta told her. "She… died… as we were fleein' Scotland." She didn't say anything further, and one look at her face told Maevis that she didn't want to talk about it anymore. God… So Jocasta was married and widowed twice before she was thirty, had lost all three of her daughters and her grandchildren in the span of about a month, and then had to create a new life, forced to move on from the loss of all of her children. If Maevis ever lost even one of her children…
"I… I'm so sorry, Auntie," Maevis said to her softly, resting her hand on Jocasta's. "I can't imagine how that must feel, losing all of your children like that."
"I've moved on," Jocasta said to her, but Maevis could tell that a small part of her simply hadn't moved on from the loss of her children. How could she? "Life goes on, doesnae it?"
"Well, yes… But at the time, I'm sure it felt like your whole world had come crashing down on top of you," Maevis told her.
"What a strange expression," said Jocasta, slightly amused. "I suppose, at the time, it did feel that way. But time heals all wounds, doesnae it?"
"It might heal them, but the old wound always leaves such a terrible scar," Maevis told her. "I knew growing up that my mother missed Archie and Brèagha when we were… in the Colonies, and they were still in Scotland. She mentioned them, but… her eyes would always glass over when she talked about them. And then I… then I found out about Brian, and I saw an even deeper wound that had turned into a nasty scar."
"Brian?" Jocasta asked her, raising one brow curiously.
"You don't know about Brian?" Maevis asked her. "Oh… I only found out from Aunt Jenny. Mama didn't talk about him, and I guess I can't blame her. I mean, I'll bet you never talk about your daughters, either. But… Brian was Archie's twin brother. He died when he was six months old."
"Oh, how dreadful," said Jocasta, genuine sympathy leaking through in her voice. "I didnae ken Archie had a twin."
"Neither did I, until Aunt Jenny mentioned him," Maevis replied. "He doesn't talk about him, either. I guess he was too young to really know, but… Actually, I'm not sure if he even knows about Brian or not. If Mama never talked about him to me, I guess she wouldn't talk about him to Archie…" She sighed a little, sitting back on the couch beside Jocasta.
"My dear," said Jocasta after a moment, her aging, wrinkled hand feeling out Maevis's young one. "I simply only want what is best fer ye. I dinnae mean te be sae harsh. I suppose I sometimes see ye as my own wee girls, but I must learn te remind myself that ye arenae mine. Ye… are yer mother's daughters… and I suppose I have been a wee bit unfair te her, as well."
"So I don't have to marry Mr. Forbes?" Maevis asked her, and Jocasta sighed heavily.
"I suppose not right away… But ye must be marrit eventually, if not te Mr. Forbes, than te someone else. This world isnae a kind world te women, especially women who are unmarried wi' bairns," Jocasta told her, and then it was Maevis's turn to sigh. Well, at least she got Jocasta slightly off her back about marriage.
"Don't I know it," she said. "I really do appreciate it, Auntie. I just… Something just… doesn't feel right about Mr. Forbes. I don't know, I just don't trust him. Don't you think it's strange that he jumped right to me as soon as Brèagha became engaged? I don't think his intentions are good, Auntie."
"Hmm, aye, I suppose that is a wee bit strange," said Jocasta, who evidently hadn't noticed this pattern at all. "I shall keep a close eye on him, and we shall find ye someone else te consider." Jocasta patted Maevis's hand gently, smiling blindly at her great-niece. "Will ye help me te the door, my dear? I find myself quite tired after such a day."
"Of course," said Maevis, helping her aunt to stand up and leading her to the door, but before they got there, Jocasta stopped her.
"How is yer brother? Is he preparin' fer his duel wi' Mr. Ainsley? I understand the duel is te be in two days' time," she asked, and Maevis sighed a little.
"He's definitely nervous," Maevis told her. "I just hope that two days from now, we aren't burying him… He has to live, or else Clara will be forced to go back and marry that awful George Underwood."
"Hmm," said Jocasta, her tone indicating that she was already scheming about something. "Perhaps we will have te find a way te protect her."
"Protect her?" Maevis asked, raising a brow curiously, and Jocasta gave her a sly smile before going for the door.
"Ulysses? Bring me to my bedchamber, if ye dinnae mind," she said, letting go of Maevis's arm and accepting Ulysses's.
"Yes, Mistress," said Ulysses, leading Jocasta away. Maevis watched her curiously, wondering if this meant that Jocasta was devising a plan to get Archie out of this duel.
9 December, 1769
BRÈAGHA POV
Archie's duel was in less than a day, and Brèagha found it hard to hide her fear that she was going to lose her brother. He hadn't been there for every moment of her life, but he was there when her parents weren't, protecting her and keeping her safe, and she had no idea what she was going to do if her brother did not live to see another sunset. She was granted a space in Auntie Jocasta's upstairs library to paint in, but Brèagha didn't find herself painting - instead, she was pacing in front of the grand bay window, one hand resting over her belly and the other supporting her back.
"Brèagha?" came a man's voice, and Brèagha gasped in fright, covering her mouth with her hand as she turned to see who had frightened her - it was Lord John.
"Oh, Lord John," said Brèagha, letting out a small sigh and glancing away from him. "Forgive me, ye startled me."
"In that case, forgive me," said Lord John, approaching Brèagha with his hands behind his back. "Your sister says she saw you pacing and asked me to check on you." Brèagha scoffed a little.
"Askin' others te be nosy fer her now, aye?" she said irritably, making her way to the cushions beneath the bay window and sitting down.
"I don't believe it's that," said Lord John, joining her on the bench. "Your sister is concerned for your health, but… is under the impression that… you don't wish to speak with her." Brèagha scoffed again; Aye, he was right, Brèagha didn't want to speak with Maevis, and hadn't since Archie's duel was announced. Maevis had even been spending nights with Caoimhe, which made Brèagha all the more happier. "You are not fond of your sister."
"Are ye askin' or makin' an observation?" Brèagha asked him a bit shortly.
"Observing," said Lord John. "I have failed to see a bond between yourself and your sister that you share with your brother."
"Ye cannae fail te see somethin' that isnae there," Brèagha told him.
"And why is that? Why be so short with your sister?" Lord John asked her, and she huffed lightly.
"She's only my sister in blood. We dinnae ken each other, and since she's arrived, she's done nothin' but cause trouble," Brèagha said to him. "Ye ken, she was the one te encourage Archie te elope wi' Clara. She says they're better off no' miserable without each other, all but sayin' he's better off dead."
"I don't believe she's been saying that at all," Lord John told her. "She encouraged your brother to follow his heart, and… he has, and though he's been worried about his upcoming duel, I do not believe I have ever seen him happier."
"That happiness verra well may end wi' his death," Brèagha replied bitterly.
"And that isn't your sister's fault," Lord John told her. "Archie is his own man, and though you may think so, he's no fool, either. He knew what might happen were he to pursue his wife. And yet… that did not stop him. Much like how your father knew the risks if he were to fight in the Uprising." Brèagha scoffed again, too.
"My father acts like a damned savage," she said irritably. "Never thinkin' before he acts, just like Maevis. Suppose I can see where she gets it from."
"And you think you don't?" Lord John asked her with some amusement, and he chuckled gently. "Your brother told me of your relationship with this Mr. Mackenzie, whom I believe your father is pursuing?"
"He what? What did he say?" Brèagha demanded, her eyes wide with surprise.
"That you met him upon his arrival on Barra, that you fell for him on the journey across the sea, and married him in Wilmington before even reuniting with your family," Lord John told her, and Brèagha's cheeks turned red. She huffed again and stood, taking a few steps away from Lord John and putting her hands on her belly.
"I dinnae regret it," she said softly. "I loved him… do love him. And I ken he's out there somewhere, I can feel it in my bones…"
"And I do not believe your brother regrets eloping with Clara," Lord John told her, and Brèagha sighed.
"I suppose I cannae be angry wi' him… I did the same, did I no'?" she asked him without turning around. "And I… suppose Maevis isnae te blame. Ye ken, our grandsire did the same wi' our grandmother. He always loved te tell us the story of how he fell fer her, how she was engaged te another… How he rowed te South Uist wi' his cousin and brother te convince her te run off wi' him in the middle of the night…" She paused for a moment, trying hard to remember the face of her great-grandmother, but failing to do so, save for in portraits. "I hardly remember her. I was verra young when she died… but Grandsire's love fer her never died. He risked everrathin' fer love, and so has Archie."
"And so have you," Lord John told her.
"Do ye really think they'll find him?" Brèagha asked him softly.
"Your father is a good man, always true to his word. He will not rest until he does," Lord John told him. Brèagha felt tears stinging her eyes, but she fought them as hard as she could. She wiped her eyes on her sleeve and let out a small sigh.
"He must hate me," she said softly.
"Your father? Certainly not," Lord John told her, hearing her whispered tone.
"I've no' exactly been the most grateful daughter te him," Brèagha told him a bit bitterly.
"He's… told me of your strained relationship," Lord John said softly. "I understand he was not often around when you were growing up." Brèagha scoffed lightly.
"Not at all," she told him. "I saw him last when I was five, and then again when I was seventeen. Fer most of that time, I didnae even ken if he was alive. He didnae write te me, didnae come te see me…"
"He couldn't, Brèagha. He was a prisoner of the Crown," Lord John told her.
"He still could have written, couldnae he?" Brèagha demanded, now turning to face him. "He wrote te Aunt Jenny, did he no'?"
"He wasn't supposed to," Lord John told her, narrowing his eyes at her a little. "And if I recall correctly, once he was free, he did send for you to join him at Helwater. You declined."
"Because my aunt had just died and my uncle was all on his own!" Brèagha spat back at him.
"Still, you had the option, and could have joined him at any time," Lord John said to her firmly.
"And how was I supposed te ken tha'? I was a child, and a lass at that. No one told me anythin'," Brèagha snapped back.
"I fail to see how your sex has anything to do with this decision," Lord John said to her, and Brèagha scoffed.
"Of course ye wouldnae. Yer a man. Yer born wi' doors already open fer ye. Those same doors are either slammed in my face or have locked me out because I'm no' a man," Brèagha told him, and Lord John let out a heavy sigh. "Fer the record, Archie wrote te me from Helwater."
"Archie was not a prisoner of the Crown," Lord John said to her. "Your father also told me you left the home that he made for you and your brother near Lallybroch."
"Aye, after he marrit another woman that wasnae my mother," Brèagha told him firmly.
"It is often expected for a man with children to remarry when he has become a widower-"
"So where's yer wife, aye? Yer a widower, arenae ye?"
"For scarcely two years, and I believe we are engaged." For a moment, Lord John and Brèagha had locked eyes, Lord John's brown eyes on Brèagha's blue, but then his steeled face relaxed, and he let out a small sigh. "Oh, how like your father you are…"
"I hear that a lot, from people who ken him," Brèagha replied, turning to walk towards a bookshelf and gently running her finger along one of the spines.
"He is, indeed, a stubborn, but passionate man," Lord John told her. "Often, he does act before thinking… But when it comes to his family, he only wishes to protect them and keep them safe." Brèagha didn't answer him. She thought about how hurt her father had looked when Brèagha had ignored him on that last day when they had seen each other. They had the same eyes, the same mouths, the same square jaw… And apparently, the same passion. The same fire that burned within Brèagha also burned within her father. She could remember, vaguely, what her life was like before she had lost both of her parents for most of her life…
"Such a bonny wee lass up there on that horse!" her father had said proudly as he led the wee pony that Brèagha sat upon when she was only four years old. "Och, yer a natural, mo nighean loidsear! Ye'll grow up te be a fine horsewoman!" A young Brèagha only giggled in response. When it was time for her to get off the pony, her father lifted her into the air and kissed her wee cheeks, playfully tossing her into the air while she giggled uncontrollably. He positioned her on his shoulders and she gripped onto his hair to keep from falling. "Ye ken I love ye dearly, my wee darlin'?" he'd asked her. "Daddy will always love ye, no matter what. And when the lads start te surround ye, ye can be sure yer Da will keep them away." He chuckled lightly to himself. "Even if ye hate me fer it…"
"I… I never said goodbye te him," she said softly. "He probably thinks I hate him."
"And do you?" Lord John asked her.
"Of course not… How could I? We… we may disagree, and we may not be verra close… but he's my father. I'll always love him," Brèagha told him, leaning against the bookshelf for support, and behind her, Lord John stood and approached her.
"Are you well, Brèagha? Must I send for your cousin?" Lord John asked her, and she shook her head and waved him off.
"I'm no' an invalid!" she snapped, absolutely tired of everyone thinking they needed to grab her and hold onto her whenever she moved. "I just… I need te lie down. And I wish te be alone. If I dinnae feel well, I'll send fer my cousin." She pulled away from Lord John, but then paused in the doorway of the library, curtsying to him before leaving. "Thank ye, Lord John." She left and made her way to her bedchamber, going to the table beside the bed, where she had carelessly tossed the letter that Maevis had given her from their father. She held it in her hands and admired it, seeing her name scrawled across the front in her father's fine script, then she opened the letter to read it:
My dearest daughter,
I cannot say if I shall see you again. My hope is that it shall be so and that all will be mended between us. I cannot express in words how much I hurt for you, and that I have caused your pain. A father is not to be responsible for his daughter's aches, and yet, I seem to be skilled in doing so. I find it difficult to bring myself to accept the fact that you are grown, and you are no longer my darling wee girl. You have not been for quite some time, and that, too, is difficult for me to accept. I have missed out on so much of your life, and the parts that I did not miss were often filled with malcontent between us. Surely, you must know how much I love you so, but I imagine I have shown little of this love.
Hear me now, for the sake of the love I bear you. I will not rest until I bring your lad home to you, even if it means I will not see you again. If that be the case, then I hope that you may someday forgive me, for I shall never forgive myself for such a transgression against my own daughter. I have been a poor father to you, and for that alone, I shall never forgive myself. I will always love you, mo nighean loidsear.
Your loving father,
James Fraser
"Oh, Daddy," Brèagha said softly, no longer able to conceal her tears. He thought she hated him… and there was a chance that she would never see her father again. His final memory of her would be her coldness towards him, and that broke her heart. "Dear God… Even if it is too late fer Rory… please bring my father home te me… Please…"
ARCHIE POV
It very easily could have been his last supper. His apostles were his wife, his sisters, his cousin, his aunt, and Lord John. Even Judas was present, within himself, as Archie's final days were due to his own foolishness. However, one look at his beloved, who scarcely touched her meal as she sat across from him, reminded him that it was worth it.
He looked up at everyone else at the table. Like Saint Peter, Brèagha was brooding and seemed angry, though Archie could not tell if it was himself that she was angry at, or something else. Like Saint Thomas, Lord John was clearly upset, though he did his best to maintain his calm demeanour. Like Jude and Matthew, Maevis and Caoimhe seemed to look to Jocasta, who, like Simon the Zealot, appeared to have some sort of knowledge on her mind. Like Saint John, the youngest apostle, Clara lived within her own mind, unwilling to come out of it as she pushed pieces of food across her plate.
One dark and stormy winter's night,
The snow lay on the ground.
The sailor boy strode on the wharf
And the ship was eastward bound…
His sweetheart standing by his side,
Shed many a bitter tear.
As he pressed her to his breast,
He whispered in her ear…
"I, erm… dinnae think I've much of an appetite," Archie said, breaking the silence, and all eyes turned to him. "Perhaps I should turn in."
"Ye'll need yer rest, lad," Jocasta said to him, and Archie sighed a little.
"Aye, suppose I will," he said, turning his attention to Clara across from him. Her eyes were pained and fearful and she looked pale, which was so unusual compared to her lively olive skin. Archie nodded subtly to her before standing up, and Brèagha, too, stood up.
"I'm no' so hungry, either," she said. "I think I need te lie down."
"I can make ye a tonic," Caoimhe said to her cousin.
"No, that… willnae help what ails me," Brèagha told her, making her way out of the room.
"She's quite distressed, Archie," Lord John said to Archie. "We spoke earlier. I believe she is very frightened for you."
"Rightfully so," said Maevis softly. "I can… go and check on her."
"Somehow, I dinnae think tha's such a good idea," Archie said, and he sighed softly. "I'll go and check on her." With that said, Archie followed Brèagha up the stairs, catching her right before she went into her bedchamber. "Bree? Are ye all right?" He heard her sniffle a little, and then she let out a firm huff.
"No, I'm no'," she said, clearly straining. "I could verra well lose ye tomorrow…"
"Och, I dinnae think ye'll be that lucky, a phiuthrag," Archie said, trying to sound playful, but he knew she was right.
"This isnae funny, Archie!" Brèagha scolded him, turning to face him. It was obvious that she had been crying, and as soon as she saw Archie's expression change, she broke down into tears, then threw her arms around her brother and sobbed into his shoulder. "Ye'd better not die! Ye cannae die! I dinnae ken what I'd do without ye…"
"Bree…" Archie said softly, embracing his sister tightly. "Listen te me… Èist rium. Years ago, when we were just bairns, I made a promise te our parents that I would protect ye and keep ye safe. I still intend te keep tha' promise, no matter what happens."
"But how can ye?" Brèagha asked him, lifting her head to look at him. "If ye die tomorrow, how can ye?"
"I'm a Fowlis, and a Fraser. Two clans that are hard te get rid of," Archie told her, giving her a bit of a cheeky smile. "This time tomorrow, ye'll be wishin' it wasnae so difficult." Brèagha scoffed and shoved him, and Archie laughed gently. "Seriously, Bree. Everrathin' will work out as it's supposed te."
"And if yer 'supposed' te die?" she asked him, pulling away, and Archie sighed.
"Then I guess I willnae be doin' as I'm supposed te do," Archie told her. "I've no intention of dyin', Bree."
"But Mr. Ainsley has everra intention of makin' sure ye do," Brèagha replied.
"Well… Only one of us can be right, aye? I'll make sure it's me," Archie told her, doing his best to comfort his sister, but it didn't seem to work. Archie's smile faded and he sighed. "Mama and Da have faced death many times… How they've managed te avoid it, I dinnae ken, but… I can only hope their good fortune has been passed onto me," he told her in a much more serious tone. "If I am te die… the ye and Maevis must do all that ye can te protect Clara. Promise me ye will."
"Promise me ye willnae die," Brèagha shot back at him.
"Brèagha," Archie said to her firmly.
"All right, I promise," Brèagha said, crossing her arms across her chest. "But ye cannae die."
"I won't," he told her. "As I've said, I've no intention of dyin'."
"That's just it, isnae it? Does anyone have any 'intention' of dyin'?"
"Er… Well, no. Usually no'," Archie told her awkwardly, and then he sighed. "Fer now… get some sleep, if ye can. I cannae be worryin' about all of the women in my life in the middle of a duel, can I?"
"Easier said than done," Brèagha told him.
"I'm sure Caoimhe can give ye some of her calmin' tonic te help," Archie told her, and then he stepped forward and gently kissed her forehead. "Whatever happens, I'll always love ye, wee sister. Whether I'm dead or alive, that willnae change."
"I ken… But I'd at least like ye here rather than six feet underground," Brèagha told him.
"Aye, I would, too," said Archie with a chuckle. Both of the siblings paused as Clara quickly made her way up the stairs and down the hall, barely pausing to open the door to their bedchamber before closing herself inside.
"Go te her," said Brèagha softly. "She… She needs ye more than I do." Archie nodded gently, then crossed the hall to go into the room after Clara. He found her staring out the window with her hands on her elbows, a single candle providing the only light that illuminated her face in the windowpane.
"Clara?" Archie asked her softly. She didn't move, nor did she say anything, but as he approached her, he realised there were tears rolling down her cheeks. "Oh, a ghràidh…"
"We were supposed to grow old together," she said softly, not meeting his eyes in the reflection of the window.
"And we will," Archie said to her, but she shook her head.
"My father is determined," she told him. "If he's ever wanted someone dead in a duel, he's assured it. I'm so afraid for you, Archie…"
"I am, too," he told her softly. "I… I'm terrified. Everraone's said how good of a shot yer father is, and those same people have remarked on how terrible of a shot I am."
"I don't like the idea of my husband and my father shooting each other," Clara told him firmly, and Archie sighed.
"I dinnae like it, either," Archie confessed. "I dinnae want te hurt yer father. Tha's the last thing I'd want."
"He wants to hurt you," Clara said, now looking down at the windowsill. "Why can't he just leave us be?"
"I'd like te think it's because yer his daughter and he loves ye," Archie told her. "Ye should have seen what my father did te Bree's husband. Well, I heard aboot it, I didnae actually see it. My father beat him and my cousin sold him te the Mohawk."
"I don't think I've heard of that tribe," Clara answered him.
"I think they're in New York," Archie replied, sitting down on the bed, but not removing his gaze from her. "I dinnae want te talk aboot this anymore… Clara… if this is it fer me… all I want is you in my arms, one last time."
"This can't be it," Clara told him softly. "We've barely begun."
"Aye, I ken," Archie told her. "Come here, a ghràidh. Come te me, will ye?" For a moment, she didn't move, but then she turned to face him and approached him slowly, stopping right in front of him. Archie reached up and gently touched her soft, delicate cheek. She was the colour of sun-kissed sand that had been washed over by the cool ocean waves, and she had beautiful obsidian-coloured hair, matched by her bonny eyes the colour of cedar wood. "There is no woman in this world more beautiful than ye… Not even Helen of Troy or even the goddess, Aphrodite. If the sight of ye is the last te befall my eyes, then I can die happy."
"You can't," she whispered to him. "You have to stay with me. You promised me."
"I ken… but nae matter whether I'm dead or alive, I'll always be wi' ye, never too far away," Archie told her, taking her into his arms as she climbed up onto his lap. "I love ye, Clara Fraser, wi' everra ounce of my heart and my soul."
"And I love you, Archie Fraser," Clara told him, running her fingers through his red curls. "If I give myself to you now… swear to me that this will not be the last."
"Clara," said Archie, but she cut him off.
"Swear to me. I will not accept anything else," she demanded of him, and he sighed softly.
"I swear te ye, this willnae be the last time," he told her, and then she leaned forward and pressed her lips firmly against his, pushing him back down onto the bed. He rolled over so that he was on top of her, and then he cradled her head in his hand and kissed her delicately, passionately, as Orpheus did Eurydice, as Tristan did Isolde, as Apollo did Hyacinthus…
My thoughts will be with you, my love,
When the storm is raging high,
So farewell, farewell, remember me…
Thy faithful sailor boy…
10 December, 1769
Archie brought his rosary to his lips and closed his eyes, directing all thoughts to the Heavenly Father above. "Dear Lord… Absolve me of all sin. Save me on this day. Protect me, keep me safe beneath yer mantle… I must live te protect her, but if ye cannae spare me… then I beg ye te keep her safe. Let no harm befall her. Let her never feel the cold, nor ken the pain of an empty belly. And if she may bring a child into this world… I beg of ye te keep them safe." He glanced up at his reflection in the mirror before him, half expecting to see someone behind him - Grandsire, Granny, Auntie Saoirse, even Isobel, maybe - but there was no one there. He was alone. He sighed softly, thinking next about the 'gift' that the Celtic goddess known as the Morrígan bestowed upon him. "Morrígan… Great Goddess. Clearly, ye've chosen me fer some reason te bestow yer gift upon… Yer the Goddess of death and fate, so please… Protect me. Protect my love. I beg of ye…"
There was a soft knock at the door and then it opened, and Archie could see Caoimhe in the reflection of the mirror behind him. "I just wanted te see how ye were," Caoimhe asked him, entering the room and crossing her arms across her stomach awkwardly. "Aboot an hour now…"
"Aye," said Archie. "How's Clara?"
"I gave her some tonic. Brèagha, too, although she willnae come out of her room," Caoimhe told him.
"Good, I dinnae want Bree te see this - or any of them, really," Archie said to her, tucking his rosary beads safely away in the breast pocket of his coat. "Ye shouldnae watch, either."
"I'm not goin' anywhere," Caoimhe told him firmly. "Ye need someone on yer side. Not just yer second. Maevis wants te be there, too." Archie scoffed lightly.
"Absolutely not. I'll no' be responsible fer her losin' her bairns," Archie said sharply.
"I think ye'll find tha' women are tougher and more resilient than ye think," Caoimhe told him.
"I hope so, fer Clara's sake," Archie told her. He paused for a moment, his thoughts going to his mother next. "Caoimhe… If I die, Mama will be…"
"Inconsolable?" Caoimhe asked, and Archie nodded.
"Aye… Please, do whatever ye can fer her, and my sisters," he asked her.
"Of course," Caoimhe replied. "Are ye nervous?"
"Nah," Archie replied. "What good will nerves do me now? I've accepted whatever happens."
"I'll be standing by with my medicine bag," Caoimhe told him. "I willnae be far at all. If yer wounded, I'll run te ye and see yer cared fer."
"Thank ye, Caoimhe. Truly," Archie said to her. "I cannae wait a moment longer. I'm bein' driven te insanity waitin'. Suppose I'll go and wait fer Mr. Ainsley."
"Will ye see Clara before ye go?" Caoimhe asked, and Archie paused.
"No," he said softly. "No, I… want my last memory of her te be of last night."
"Are ye certain?" Caoimhe asked him.
"I'm no' certain of anythin' anymore," Archie told her. "I can only hope tha' God has forgiven everra sin I've committed in my short life." He met Caoimhe's silvery Fowlis eyes one final time, then nodded gently to her before turning and leaving the room.
CAOIMHE POV
The duel would take place just outside of the house on River Run, allowing close proximity for Caoimhe to treat the wounded party - or both, if both were wounded. As the time for the duel drew nearer, Caoimhe watched Archie become more and more unsettled, and of course, Mr. Ainsley was late. Had he decided not to continue with the duel after all? Suddenly, a carriage appeared, and Caoimhe let out a small huff.
"Damn it," Maevis muttered from behind her on the porch. "I was starting to think he wouldn't show."
"Damn the bastard! F-forgive me, Mistress Cameron," said Geordie, who was sitting beside Maevis. Caoimhe watched Archie glance nervously at Lord John, who said something to him, and Archie nodded. Mr. Ainsley and his second, who, shockingly, turned out to be Mr. Underwood himself, descended from the carriage, and Caoimhe watched an uncomfortable glare be exchanged between Mr. Underwood and Archie.
"I certainly hope you have your will written, Mr. Fraser," Mr. Underwood commented.
"I have," Archie replied. "Dinnae fash, if I'm te die, ye'll be gettin' my most prized possession."
"A prized jewel that belonged to me," growled Mr. Underwood, and Caoimhe scoffed.
"You will get your prized jewel and I shall get my daughter!" Mr. Ainsley annoyingly chimed in.
"Bastard thinks he owns Clara," she muttered to Maevis and Geordie, rolling her eyes a little. Behind her, Caoimhe heard the sound of the door opening and when she turned, found Clara standing in the doorframe. "Clara?"
"Archie!" Clara called, lifting her skirts and running down the stairs of the porch to her husband.
"Clara?" Archie said with confusion, turning and nearly falling over when she threw herself into his arms.
"Archie, my love… I couldn't sit in that room and wait for the sound of a gunshot. I had to come to you," she said to him through tears, and Archie pressed his forehead against hers.
"Shh, my darlin'," he said, and then he spoke to her in a hushed whisper that was barely audible. Caoimhe glanced up briefly at Mr. Underwood and Mr. Ainsley. Underwood of course was scowling with a look of disgust on his face, but a strange look had overcome Mr. Ainsley's. He seemed angry still, but his eyes seemed to have glossed over with some unknown emotion… Caoimhe's stomach tied itself into knots as she hoped and prayed that this meant Mr. Ainsley would call off the duel.
"Gentlemen," said the man that would be officiating the duel, calling the attention of all of the men involved.
"Clara, please, go inside," Archie begged her, but she shook her head as she sobbed.
"No… no, I can't!" she cried, so Caoimhe made her way down the stairs to fetch her cousin.
"Come, ye can stand wi' me," Caoimhe told her. Clara threw her arms around Archie one last time and kissed him firmly, letting out a sob.
"I love you so much, Archie," she said to him.
"I love ye too, Clara," Archie muttered softly to her, kissing her one last time, and then he nodded to Caoimhe to take her back to the porch. Clara held on tightly to Caoimhe's hands as Archie, Lord John, Mr. Underwood and Mr. Ainsley surrounded the officiant and listened to him speak.
"Now, surely you all know the rules of a duel. What is the weapon of choice?" asked the officiant.
"Pistols," said Mr. Ainsley firmly.
"Mr. Fraser, have you a pistol?" the officiant asked Archie, who nodded.
"Aye, my father's," said Archie, producing the pistol.
"You each will get one shot. You will stand with your backs to one another and walk ten paces before you will be allowed to fire. Upon the firing of each pistol, regardless of the outcome, honour will be restored. Is that understood?" the officiant asked the two duelling parties.
"Aye, sir," said Archie, glancing at Mr. Ainsley.
"Aye," said Mr. Ainsley, not looking at Archie.
"Duellists, take your positions," said the officiant. "Mr. Amos Ainsley has challenged Mr. Archie Fraser to a duel for his daughter's honour. Face each other first, and shake hands." Archie and Mr. Ainsley started by facing each other, each giving the other a firm handshake.
"I dinnae want te hurt ye, Mr. Ainsley," Archie could be heard saying, but Mr. Ainsley's pursed lips and clenched jaw didn't respond. Instead, he turned his back to Archie, indicating that he was ready to duel, and Archie glanced briefly at his family on the porch before standing with his back against Mr. Ainsley's, each of them holding up their pistols. Mr. Ainsley held his in his right hand, but Archie was left-handed, like both of his parents, so he held his in his left.
"Gentlemen, take ten paces forward," said the officiant, counting out the paces as Archie and Mr. Ainsley each took ten steps. "…eight, nine, ten. Stop." Archie was visibly sweating despite it being December and he started silently whispering a prayer to himself. "Turn to face each other and draw your weapons." Both men turned to face each other and drew their weapons, ready to fire. "On my count. Ready… aim…" Dear God, protect him. Dear God, dinnae let my cousin die today… Caoimhe's stomach was now doing backflips. "…fire!"
It was like everything moved slowly, freezing time just for a moment. Mr. Ainsley fired right away, and Caoimhe could almost see the bullet sailing through the air. Archie, on the other hand, did not fire at Mr. Ainsley - he threw his shot, directing the pistol up in the air and firing his weapon. What was he doing? How could he be so stupid? How could he waste his shot like that? Suddenly, time caught up, and with the crack of the gunshot came a guttural cry from Archie and he fell backwards. Clara screamed, Maevis gasped loudly, Jocasta made a shrill noise, Geordie whistled loudly, Lord John shouted a curse, and Caoimhe immediately leapt into action.
"Archie!" she called, practically leaping from the porch steps and racing towards her cousin on the ground.
"Honour is restored," said the officiant as Caoimhe collapsed onto her knees beside him, her breath caught in her throat as she inspected her cousin, half expecting him to be dead already, half expecting him to be dying. She searched his chest, his head, his neck… but there was no hole. There was no blood. Archie had sounded and reacted as if he'd been shot, so where was the wound?
"Arm," Archie muttered through gritted teeth, and Caoimhe turned her attention to his right arm, which was scarlet red from the sputtering injured brachial artery.
"Shit!" Caoimhe exclaimed, grabbing a towel, soaking it with alcohol and pressing it to Archie's wound.
"NNNGH!" Archie cried out in pain, and Caoimhe pulled a piece of leather out of the bag and gave it to him.
"Bite on this, this is goin' te hurt," Caoimhe told him
"Wee bit late fer that," Archie growled with strain through gritted teeth, putting the piece of leather between his teeth as Caoimhe worked on his arm.
"Ye threw yer shot, ye fool. What the hell were ye thinkin'?" Caoimhe demanded from him as she worked to close the wound.
"Can I help?" Lord John asked her.
"I need this hot. I need te cauterise the artery," Caoimhe told him, handing him a small blade, which he accepted and left to fetch a candle.
"Archie!" came Clara's voice, and she, too, collapsed beside Archie and laid herself over his chest, sobbing heavily. "Oh, Archie!"
"Dinnae… fash, my love…" Archie said to her with strain. "As ye can see… I'm no' dead…"
"Oh, thank God," Clara cried, hugging him tightly around his chest.
"Clara, I need room te work," Caoimhe snapped, startling Clara a little as she moved away, and she gasped when she saw the blood.
"Oh!" she cried out, covering her mouth with her hand. Suddenly, a shadow overtook them, and Caoimhe paused to see what had concealed her light and was surprised to see Mr. Ainsley himself standing over Archie.
"That isn't so bad," he said, observing the wound on Archie's arm. "I've had worse."
"Aye… So've I," Archie said a bit tiredly. Clara didn't say anything, nor did she look up to meet her father's gaze. His jaw was squared to speak and he looked first at his daughter before looking at Archie.
"Contrary to what you may believe, Mr. Fraser… I do love my daughter, dearly," Mr. Ainsley said, and this drew Clara's attention to him. "I do hope you will provide for her. My daughter has never known poverty."
"N-nor will she," Archie told him, as firm as he could through the strain. Mr. Ainsley didn't say anything, only nodded once, and then glanced at Clara one final time before he turned and left, leaving Caoimhe to tend to Archie's wound. Archie laid his head down on the frozen grass, a look of utter relief on his face.
"Surely, this calamity is not over?" Mr. Underwood demanded of Mr. Ainsley, who only shook his head as he walked away. "Mr. Ainsley! Surely, you cannot let this fool steal away my bride!"
"You heard the officiant, Mr. Underwood. The duel is done. Honour is restored," Mr. Ainsley numbly said without turning around.
"And what of my honour, which has been insulted twice the amount of yours? 'Tis I who has lost my bride!" Mr. Underwood shouted at him, but Mr. Ainsley ignored him as he climbed back into the carriage. Mr. Underwood then turned, glaring at the delirious Archie. "This is not over, Mister Fraser," he growled, although Archie wasn't exactly paying much attention to him. Mr. Underwood, too, climbed into the carriage, and the horseman cracked his whip and started the carriage on its way.
"Ye've not had worse than this, ye idjit," Caoimhe scolded him once they were alone.
"Shh, he doesnae ken that," Archie muttered, and Caoimhe rolled her eyes.
"Try not te get into any more duels, aye? Ye got verra lucky this time," Caoimhe told him firmly. "I cannae believe it… I dinnae want te say he threw his shot, but I dinnae think he intended te kill ye."
"Hmm… Told ye lot… I wouldnae die," he said a bit giddily, and Caoimhe rolled her eyes as she dug in her bag for the laudanum.
