20 January, 1744

Streets of Paris, France

I climbed down from the carriage and made my way up the stone staircase towards the shops. Everywhere around me were people dressed in all sorts of social classes, mostly middle class or servants doing their shopping, but a few upper class - like myself, evidently - were around as well. There were also a lot of lower class people stricken with poverty lining the streets and the staircase, some with children who were skinny with starvation, others that barely looked alive. It was maddening to think that in about fifty years' time, the lower classes would revolt against the upper classes and the streets would fill with the blood of thousands.

I searched the signs of the shops for a Master Raymond's apothecary, which Cailean had mentioned to me the other day, and came across it blending in with the shops. It would have been easy to miss, if you didn't look directly for it. I made my way towards it and found myself in the midst of an avid conversation in French between a stout, frog-like man and-

" Madame, " said the Comte Saint Germain with a malicious look in his eye. He had been in conversation with this other man and had just turned and spotted me, his already frustrated brow knitting even more in anger.

" Monsieur, " I said back to him, returning his dagger-like gaze with my own.

"You are acquainted?" asked the stout man in French.

"Madame and I have met only once," said the Comte, also in French, with a firm tone in his voice.

"I see," said the other man. Without even saying goodbye, the Comte pushed past me and made his way down the street, my own eyes following him. " Bonjour, Madame. May I be of assistance?" I heard the stout man say again, reminding me of where I was.

"Yes, indeed," I said. "I am looking to purchase some herbs."

"Then you have come to the right place, Madonna. Do come inside," said the stout man, offering me his arm. He was much shorter than me, I being easily a foot taller than this man, and led me inside when I accepted it. "I am Master Raymond, owner of this fine shop."

"It is a lovely shop," I said upon entering. "We do not have such fine apothecaries in Scotland."

"Scotland? I should have never guessed!" said Master Raymond in French, and then he switched over to English. "I shall make it easier for you, then! What is it that you seek today?"

"How verra kind of ye," I said, also in English. "The basics fer certain. Fennel, verbena, lavender if ye've got it, a bit of licorice…"

"This is France, Madonna , we have lavender growing like weeds in our gardens," said Master Raymond with amusement.

"Lavender seems to work wonders for my sons. One of them has a bit of trouble sleeping," I said. "As does my husband. I was also searching fer a bit of Nepeta cataria as well, if ye have it."

"There are not many herbs that I do not have, Madonna . If you name it, I carry it," he said. "How old are your sons?"

"They will be a month old tomorrow," I answered.

"Then congratulations are in order! As for your husband, is the problem the result of excessive eating, drinking, or perhaps a nervous disposition?"

"Nightmares, mostly," I answered, thinking back to the night before when I awoke to Jamie thrashing in his sleep.

"I see," said Master Raymond, thinking for a moment. "Ah, yes. Delphine! S'il vous plaît…" He disappeared for a moment and I took this time to scan some of the herbs and concoctions that Master Raymond had. I picked up a rather interesting bottle labelled 'Crocodile Blood' and popped it open, giving it a sniff. I crinkled my nose at the rather awful scent and recapped it.

"Have you an interest in the crocodile's blood?" asked Master Raymond. "They say that the blood of a crocodile holds the key to sickness."

"Does it?" I asked. "It doesnae just smell of blood. It smells of mustard and thyme in walnut oil as well. What an interesting combination."

"Indeed it is. That nose of yours is not purely decorative, Madonna. It is a popular purchase for the upper class women for their families," said Master Raymond, coming around to the other side of the counter, where the crocodile's blood sat.

"If it's so popular, ye must have many crocodiles in supply," I said. "Unless it isnae crocodile's blood…"

"So much cynicism in one so young," said Master Raymond. "As a matter of fact, it is pig's blood. Pig's blood is much more readily available in the streets of Paris than crocodile's blood. Fortunately, the ladies of the court are far more trusting and foolish than you, Madonna. "

"I think ye'll find that not many of the ladies of the French court ken the things that I do," I told him. He smiled at me in an understanding manner, then seemed to recall something and pulled a small bottle out of his coat pocket.

"I have here Valeriana officinalis , combined with a touch of Humulus lupulus . Slip a bit of this into your husband's evening tea and he should…" Master Raymond mimed falling asleep and snoring, and I couldn't help but giggle.

"Hops and garden valerian, aye? Fer soothin' the mind and promoting sleep," I said as I accepted the bottle.

"Indeed, Madonna ! You have a fine knowledge of herbs. Are you a professional of some kind?" Master Raymond asked me with fascination.

"I suppose that would depend on what ye deem a 'professional'. I'm a healer. My mother was as well, and she taught me many uses of herbs," I told him.

"Ah, a healer! A very honourable occupation! Tell me, your name would not happen to be Catrina Fraser, would it?"

"Aye, it is. Well, Catrìona Fraser, it seems my Celtic name is a tongue twister fer the French," I replied. "Are ye a mind reader as well?"

"Perhaps something of the kind," said Master Raymond playfully. "Indeed not, but I do have an excellent memory for names and I heard yours recently in connection with a rather… dramatic arrival on our shores." He paused for a moment and glanced around. "The Comte Saint Germain told me all about your part in the burning of his pox-infested ship, the Patagonia ."

"Ah, yes, that. I'll be he did tell ye all aboot tha'," I said somewhat bitterly, and Master Raymond surprised me by chuckling and I raised my brow.

"Good on you for that," said Master Raymond with amusement.

"Are ye no' friends with the Comte? I did see ye both speakin' out the front there," I said, now confused.

" Au contraire, Madonna, we are certainly not friends. 'Rivals' would be a much better word to describe my relationship with Le Comte Saint Germain ," Master Raymond explained.

"Is rival no' just a pleasant term fer enemies?" I asked him.

"So it is, and since he is your enemy, too, you must, in point of fact, be my friend," he answered me, and I couldn't help but smile.

"Thank ye kindly. I really could use a friend," I said to him. "One who is much more like-minded as me."

"Then as my new friend, you must accept that mixture as a gift to you and your husband. As instructed, steep it in his tea before bed and he will instead keep you awake with his snoring!" I couldn't help but laugh.

"Thank ye verra much. I certainly shall, and perhaps have him sleep on the settee," I said. Remembering that I came for other herbs for the lads as well, I quickly pulled out a list I had scribbled down onto a piece of parchment. "Now, fer two newborn lads…"

Jardin du Luxembourg, Paris, France

CAILEAN POV

Cailean watched as Jamie and Murtagh battled away with two swords, sitting beside Beth, who was holding a sleeping Brian, while Archie sat up on Cailean's lap watching his father and uncle battle it out with swords. Beside him, he heard Beth scoff, and he turned his head to look at her. "Must men always solve their problems with a sword?" she asked him.

"No' always. I always find the pen te be mightier than the sword," Cailean replied, and he smiled when she turned her head to look at him and blushed.

"Well, tha's verra noble, isnae it?" she asked him shyly.

"I like te think so. It also could be because I am no' the best with a sword," said Cailean, chuckling. "I'm better with my dirk and a pistol. Pistols are harder te aim, though, so te be a good shot with a pistol is a verra good skill."

"You could win many duels with a skill like that," Beth told him. Cailean was about to open his mouth to speak when the sound of a cry interrupted them and they both turned their heads to look at Jamie and Murtagh. Jamie was kneeling on the ground cradling his hand while Murtagh cackled with amusement.

"Yer a dead man, lad," Murtagh told his godson, who growled at him as he brushed his red curls out of his eyes. "Yer left hand's as weak as a kitten."

"When ye get beaten fer bein' cack-handed, ye lose the strength in it," Jamie told him. He looked down at his still injured right hand, which was bundled up in a leather brace, and let out a sigh. "There's no strength in stiff fingers."

"What of the new swords?" Cailean called to them. "Do they satisfy ye?"

"It's much lighter than I'm used te," Jamie said back to him.

"I much prefer a Scottish blade," Murtagh replied, and he grasped Jamie's left hand and helped him to stand. Jamie nodded to him, then approached Cailean, who stood, and took Archie from him, kissing his red hair.

"Dinnae watch yer father be beaten by an auld man, laddie," Jamie told his son, who reached for Jamie's fingers.

"Yer a month into recovery fer a broken hand, man. Ye cannae blame yerself," Cailean told his brother-in-law, who sighed.

"Aye, I ken. Yer sister did an excellent job, on my hand," Jamie said, stretching out the injured hand to take a look at it.

"She can do better if ye'd let her take the stitches out," Cailean told him, and Jamie sighed.

"She told ye, did she?" he asked, and Cailean nodded. "I dinnae like te fash over somethin' so trivial. And she's got the lads te fash over, she doesnae need me te add onto that."

"She's fashin' because ye willnae let her finish her fash over ye. Once she's assured yer hand has healed, she'll leave ye be. Just let her take a look at it," Cailean told him, and then he took Jamie's sword from its scabbard. "Now, give me a shot at this auld coot!"

"Ye think ye can take me on?" Murtagh asked Cailean, getting into position as Cailean approached him.

"Aye, I ken I can!" Cailean replied, also getting into position, and then they fought. Cailean, of course, was not nearly as adept as Murtagh as fighting with a sword, but he still put up a good fight for Murtagh - better than Jamie, at least, but Jamie had an excuse. "All right, all right! Ye win!" Cailean exclaimed, giving up and tossing the sword on the ground.

"As I ought te," said Murtagh. He then noticed that there was a crowd of people watching them, gawking at the sight. "Have ye never seen two men practicin' the art of the sword, eh? Clear off!"

"Ye cannae blame them, I hear duelling is outlawed in France," Cailean told him.

"Aye, it is," said Jamie. "No doubt they think ye mean te run each other through."

"Yet another wrong te mark against this misery of a country," said Murtagh bitterly. "And the air! I'm out of breath after hardly an hour. Too many people, arses and armpits, with the stink reachin' even indoors."

"Scotland doesnae exactly smell like a lady's boudoir either," Cailean told him. "Ye've got cow shite in the highlands, dead fish in the islands and the stink of the English in the lowlands."

"All animal smells. This city reeks of a chamber pot. Edinburgh doesnae even smell so bad," Murtagh told him.

"You and I remember Auld Reeky verra differently," Cailean told him, and he and Jamie chuckled as Murtagh sighed.

"Even so, but I still miss the scents. Don't you lads?" he asked them.

"Aye, it pains me te admit so, but I even find myself longing for the company of Lard Bucket and Big Head," Jamie said with amusement.

"By chance, ye dinnae mean Rupert and Angus, do ye?" Cailean asked him, and Jamie laughed.

"Aye, I do," he said.

"Lard bucket," said Murtagh with amusement. "Rupert would call it muscle. But wee Angus does sport a curiously large head."

"I'm sure they miss yer sunny countenance as well," said Cailean, patting Murtagh on the back. Murtagh couldn't help but sigh again, the longing for Scotland clearly resting heavily on his shoulders.

"It willnae be forever," Jamie assured him.

"No, but it'll seem so," Murtagh replied. "I thought we came here te prevent a rebellion, but instead we're… wine merchants?"

"Hey, we are damn good wine merchants, thank ye verra much," said Cailean in an attempt to be funny.

"Wine is fer drinkin', not sellin'," Murtagh replied.

"And how do ye think ye get the wine, ye gabbott?" Cailean asked him. Jamie couldn't help but chuckle, but his tone resumed its serious manner.

"What would ye have me do instead?" Jamie asked him. "I've go' two lads a wife te think of, ye ken."

"If ye want te kill a snake, ye cut off its head," Murtagh told him somewhat ominously.

"Ye mean, kill the prince?" Cailean asked, lowering his voice.

"Aye, I do," Murtagh replied. "The prince is at the head of this rebellion. Kill him, and ye kill the rebellion."

"I'm no assassin," Jamie told him firmly. "And I'll no' do somethin' so foolish at the risk of my wife and sons."

"Good on ye, man," Cailean told him. "Although, there are other men in Paris who would do so fer good coin…"

"And then what?" Jamie asked the two of them. "Ye forget he's his father as well. Do ye propose we do away with James as well? And what of his brother?"

"His brother's studying religion, he'll end up in a religious life," said Cailean, briefly recalling Henry Stuart's history.

"Ye ken that fer certain, do ye?" Murtagh asked him, and Cailean remembered that Murtagh didn't know he was from the future.

"So the rumours say. Charles seems te think so," Cailean replied, saving himself.

" Ist , both of ye," Jamie told them. "Murtagh, is yer longing fer Scotland truly worth the murder of a prince and king? No, fer all we know, the death of his son would make James even more determined te seize the throne, and if ye go fer James, it might make his other son motivated te take the throne."

"So we kill all three!" Murtagh hissed. "I speak of action and ye give me logic. Where will we get with that?"

"Well, we do have a meeting with the prince tonight," Cailean chimed in. "Had ye stayed after the christening yesterday, ye would have met him, ye auld coot."

"And what'll that do?" Murtagh demanded of him.

"Only way te find out is te go," Jamie replied.

Jared's House, Paris, France

CATRÌONA POV

After dinner, I had gone to feed the lads and help Beth put them down, and once that was finished, I went into the study to compose a letter to Jenny. Jamie wrote to her frequently, but I wanted to send my own letters to my good sister and sat down to scribble away about how the lads were, what the house was like, the herbs, the clothes, Master Raymond….

"Ah, there ye are," I heard Jamie's voice say, and he startled me.

"Jamie!" I exclaimed as a bit of ink splattered from the jolting of the quill.

"Sorry," he said, closing the distance between us and bending down to kiss my head and take the quill from me. "I'm te meet the prince tonight. I need ye te take this contraption off of my hand."

"Te do that, I'd need te take the stitches out and examine it," I told him. "Are ye goin' te let me?"

"I've no choice in the matter, do I?"

"Not of ye want that off yer hand." He let out a quick huff.

"Fine. Let's do this quickly, Cailean and I must leave soon," Jamie said rather abruptly.

"In our room, I've got all my things in there," I said, standing up.

"Why can't ye just fetch them and bring them back here?" Jamie asked me, mildly irritated.

"Because if I do that, then I'll have gone te the room, gathered my things and come all the way back and have te set them up again when we could have just walked there the one time and sat down where they're already set up. If ye'd like te waste more time, though, be my guest," I told him, and he huffed again.

"All right, fine," he told me, getting up and stalking out of the room.

"Pissy much?" I asked myself, following him. I sat him down at the small table we had by the fire and loosened the brace, then pulled it off of his hand. I first examined the skin of his hand before I went about cutting the stitches. Once his hand was free of stitches, which took about twenty minutes to get all of them, I bathed his hand in a bowl of warm salted water and then rubbed a salve over the skin. "It'll likely be a wee bit inflamed fer a bit, and perhaps a bit sore, but otherwise, everything looks good. Ye've got good mobility and the tendons are stretching and bending as they should. Do ye feel anything when I do this?" I bent his middle finger and he sucked in his breath.

"It hurts a bit," he said.

"It might, that joint was completely shattered and would have taken the bulk of the nanomeds te treat. But they did a verra good job, if we can even move that joint. I'll be honest, I didnae ken if they would be able te heal the joint, but they did," I told him, stretching the finger out again and squeezing his fingertip. "Can ye feel that?"

"Yes," he said. I then picked up a sharp metal tool and gently touched the tip of it to his finger.

"How aboot that?"

"Yes. Catrìona, is this done? We cannae be late," Jamie said to me irritably, and I couldn't help but chuckle to myself.

"Fine, yes, yer all right, just please dinnae try te do anything that might damage yer hand. Ye have te remember, it's still healing. Please take care of it."

"I will," Jamie said. "I'm sorry I snapped at ye." He sat up to press a kiss to my forehead. "Ye ken how important this is… I dinnae want te upset the prince."

"Ye'll do fine. Everything will be all right," I told him with a smile. He returned it, and then he stood and bent over me to kiss me.

"I'll be home late, ye dinnae have te wait fer me," he said to me.

"I willnae be able te help it. I dinnae sleep when yer no' by my side, and I cannae help but te worry fer ye," I told him, holding his good hand in my own.

"Dinnae fash, mo nighean ruadh . I'll be all right," he said. He then bent to kiss me again, then gave my hand an affectionate squeeze before he was out the door.

Maison Elise, Paris, France

JAMIE POV

Prince Charles was busy chatting away with a couple of young girls that worked at the brothel, who were flirting incessantly with him. It was like they were competing for the prince's affection, but would not win. After the pair of them giggled rather annoyingly for the fifteenth time, Jamie cleared his throat.

"Excuse me, do mhòrachd… Yer Highness…" he began, but Charles laughed loudly at something one of the girls said.

"Yer Highness," Cailean said a little louder, and Charles finally turned his attention to the two men before him.

"Yer Highness, if ye'll indulge me fer a moment, I would verra much like te discuss the reason fer our having this meeting here tonight," Jamie said to him.

"Do you have something more interesting to attend to this evening, James?" asked Charles rather annoyingly.

"What my good brother means te say, Yer Highness, is that early tomorrow morning, we have a meeting with a potential buyer fer a new wine we are te be selling through our business. Ye ken we are wine merchants, if ye'll recall," Cailean told him, considering he was already in the prince's good graces.

"Yes, we have several of those meetings tomorrow," said Jamie.

"I see," said Charles, relaxing into his seat. "I was about to suggest that very same thing." Of course ye were, Jamie thought to himself. They were interrupted yet again by Madame Elise herself climbing up onto a raised platform that she called a stage, raising her arms to draw the attention of the patrons.

"Gentlemen," she said in French. "May I present… your wives! " From behind the curtain, three girls dressed rather provocatively as a parody of what proper upper class women would wear entered the stage and began to 'scold' the men at the brothel. "Your wives are angry, you are spending so much away from home that she is just so bored! But never fear…" She paused for dramatic effect, then one of the girls wheeled a small table to the spot beside her. On that table was a tall object - or multiple objects - covered by a violet cloth, and Madame Elise grasped that cloth and pulled it off, revealing three phallic-shaped wooden objects of various sizes standing straight up. "With this, your wives will never be bored again, and you will hear no more of this. " As if on cue, the girls began to 'scold' the men again. "Purchase one dildo today!"

"A dildo?" Cailean asked, his eyes wide, but then he snorted into laughter. Clearly, he knew what these 'dildos' were. Jamie would have to remember to ask him later. Jamie's attention was drawn by the prince, who was also laughing with amusement.

"Look at their faces!" he said to Jamie in English. "James, Cailean, my friends, this is why I admire the French. They're so wonderfully vulgar. They never allow their exquisite manners to interfere with their baser instincts."

"They do seem te enjoy themselves in verra unique ways," said Cailean, taking a sip of his wine to mask more laughter.

" Very clever, indeed!" said Charles. "Mark me, if I had a wife, I would buy all three for variety! You must consider purchasing one for your wife, James." Cailean snorted again and laughed, while Jamie's face turned red as he realised what the objects were for.

"I… I dinnae think she would take kindly te that…" Jamie replied.

"If ye ask me," said Murtagh, surprising Jamie a little - he was so quiet that Jamie had forgotten he was even there, "the French are a sorry bunch of sodomites that cannae please their women. Jamie has no problems there."

" Murtagh! " Jamie hissed at him, causing Cailean to snort again. Charles, however, did not seem amused.

"Forgive me, but I do not recall asking for your opinion, nor do I recall inviting you to this evening," Charles said to him tartly.

"Where he goes, I go," Murtagh replied, referring to Jamie.

"Hmph," said Charles, and then he turned his attention back to Jamie. "My good friend, Jared Fraser - and your good brother here, for that matter - claim that you are a man of substance, that you speak your true mind in all matters. Mark me, I hope that it is so. I do not wish to add another sycophant to my acquaintances. I have too many about me already."

"I can assure ye, I am none of that sort," Jamie told him.

"Excellent. Tell me, then, about what the current affairs are like in Scotland. Cailean tells me some things, but he is not a Laird as you are, James. Are your clans prepared to hear my call to arms, rise up against that heretical traitor that dares to sit upon my father's throne?" Charles asked him, and Jamie started his response by taking a breath.

"The clans, ye ask of?" he asked, and Charles nodded.

"Cailean here tells me he has not been among clans in some time, but you have," he told him.

"Aye, I have," Jamie replied, and he took a sip of wine to wet his throat. He had to think of the best way possible to throw the prince off of his course to invade Scotland - or at least delay it. "Well, sire… the truth of it is…" This was going to be difficult news to tell. "The clans cannae agree on the colour of the sky, let alone put aside their auld grievances and band together te fight the English." The prince's brow raised - his eyebrows had been shaved, likely in some ridiculous Italian court fashion. "No, sire, they arenae ready te heed the call of the pipes, nor likely te be so fer many years." For a moment, the prince was silent as he stared at Jamie with suspicion.

"I daresay," he said after a moment, "if that is the truth, it is one I have yet to hear. And damnable defeatist talk is what it sounds like and very peculiar coming from a supposed Jacobite."

"I assure ye, Yer Highness, that I hate the English as much as any man, as does my wife. Ye ken already that we have been grievanced and displaced by the English, myself and my wife and two bairns, but what ye dinnae ken is that I also carry the scars of two hundred lashes on my back. They remind me everraday of my hatred fer the English, when I feel the awkward way that my shirt falls onto my skin… when I feel my wife's hands run along them in bed. I wouldnae give ye lies of the current affairs of Scotland. Ye asked fer the truth, and the truth is what I gave ye. Would ye rather I whisper honeyed words of reassurance into yer ear - words that would only lead you, your father, and all of Scotland to disaster?" Jamie told him, carefully watching the prince's expressions. "God demands that a Catholic king sits on the English throne."

"My father is that king," said Charles firmly.

"I wish fer that as well," Jamie told him.

"I'm glad to hear it," said Charles.

"But Yer Highness," Cailean said, jumping into the conversation. "Wishing has proven time and time again te be no match fer the muskets, the bows, the swords and the cannons of the English army."

"As it did during the Fifteen," Jamie chimed in.

"Well, I certainly will not repeat the mistakes of Lord Mar," said Charles firmly and rather childishly. "He hesitated when victory was in his grasp."

"Aye, above all else, a leader must be decisive," Cailean told him.

"May I ask, Yer Highness," said Murtagh suddenly, silencing both Jamie and Cailean, "have ye ever been to Scotland?" At this, Charles sat back in his chair, clearly outdone.

"I regret not having had the pleasure," he replied somewhat meekly. "Having spent my early years in Italy, where my father was forced to seek sanctuary in his exile."

"Then ken this," Murtagh told him, as if he were scolding a child. "Scotland is a beautiful country. Its glens, its lochs, its mountains… all things we dream of when we are away from its borders. We are a people of the land, a simple people with no great love of outsiders." He glanced at Cailean. "Even those who share our blood and our roots, but live among the islands or the lowlands."

"Or the highlands, if yer an islander, as I am, or a lowlander," Cailean told him, and then he turned his attention to the prince. "Aye, we will fight and even have fought each other more often than not. Do ye no' ken Glencoe? It was the Campbells who attacked the MacDonalds fer no' pledging allegiance to the English king in time."

"That is true" Jamie said. "What yer askin', Yer Highness, is a high cost fer many a Scottish man."

"Ye ask us te shed our blood fer what? Putting a more sympathetic arse on the throne?" Murtagh chimed in.

"I wouldnae have worded it that way, but aye, that's the truth of it," said Cailean. "If you were asked te defend, say… the king of bloody Russia, would ye drop everrathing ye have te do it?"

"Certainly not," said the prince.

"Then do ye think it cause enough fer a crofter or a cotter, who wasnae yet born of this world or may have been just a weeun when yer grandsire was removed from the throne, te exchange his scythe fer a blade, te leave his home, his crops, his wife and his bairns, and charge into a cannon's blast?" Jamie asked him. Charles was silent as he digested the words that Jamie, Cailean and Murtagh were telling him, clearly unhappy with what he was being told.

"It seems ye have now heard the word of three loyal Scots, all of whom dinnae care fer the English but ken our land and our brothers," Murtagh told him, breaking the silence.

"And what of God's truth?" Charles asked suddenly, still arguing his point like an unhappy child. "For His is the only truth that matters, is it not? I tell you three all, that it is God's will that I , Charles Stuart, unite the clans. It is God's will that I be the beacon of light, for I am, by divine right , the outstretched hand of God."

"We dinnae think that our cause willnae succeed, but we fear - and ken well - that it will no' move verra far without money," Cailean began, but Charles cut him off.

"Then money it shall have!" he said. He seemed to pause in thought for a moment, and then an idea crossed his features. "And to get it, we must win the support of the French Minister of Finance… a man by the name of Joseph Duvernay. As I am in this country unofficially, I cannot be received at Court." Charles suddenly turned his determined, greedy, childish gaze to Jamie. "But you , my Lord Broch Too-rock… You can go in my place."

" Me ?" Jamie asked. "But sire…"

"I see that you have the heart of a true patriot, willing to risk my wrath in order to safeguard your countrymen, James, but I can think of no better man to help me in this time of need," Charles told him.

"But we jus' said-" Murtagh began, but Charles cut him off again.

"Go to the Court of Louis. Be my advocate for rebellion, for your Prince, for the rightful King, and for the God that sits in judgement of us all," Charles said rather loudly, giving Jamie no chance to say no.

"Aye," he said finally. "I will."

" Excellent. I knew you would come through for me, James," said Charles proudly. "Now, I am in need of a woman, or perhaps two…"

Jared's House, Paris, France

CATRÌONA POV

"I'm proud of ye, mo ghràidh, " I told Jamie once he'd recounted the story of the evening to me. It was quite late when he returned, but I was still awake, and immediately got to work boiling him water for tea. "Ye spoke yer mind and ye still won a place at the Prince's side. But I willnae refrain from callin' him a daft blockhead."

"Aye, blockhead indeed, and a dangerous one at tha'," Jamie replied as he pulled off his breeks, his cotton shirt falling free to his knees. "He'll get us all killed, if we dinnae stop him. I wouldnae trust the daft clotheid with Lallybroch's vegetable patch, let alone all of Scotland!"

"Well, it was just one meeting," I said as I pulled the kettle from the fire and poured it into two cups, one with a lavender and rosemary tea for myself and one with the mixture of the valerian and hops plant that Master Raymond had given me earlier. "Charles isnae ready te sail to Scotland anytime soon." I stirred the teas, then picked them both up on their saucers and brought Jamie's to him, which he took. "Ye'll have plenty of time te open his ears and his eyes te sense." Jamie made a noise as he took a small sip of his still hot tea.

"It'll all be fer naught, I'm afraid. The man willnae listen to me nor anyone, only God, who doesnae seem te have the sense te stop him from doing something so foolish," Jamie told me, and I couldn't help but laugh.

"And now ye see why I serve the Pagan gods and goddesses," I said. "More deities, less of a power vacuum. But at least Charles has the sense te ken that wars cost money, and without funds, Charles is as helpless as a kitling. We'll just have te hope that the Minister of Finance kens a bad investment when he sees one."

"Aye, indeed," said Jamie, sipping his tea again. "What is this? I dinnae ken if ye've made this blend fer me before."

"Something te help ye sleep," I told him. "Hopefully dreamlessly."

"Not laudanum?" Jamie asked, slightly alarmed.

"No, something much more simple," I replied. "Valerian and hops. It'll soothe yer mind and hopefully keep any night terrors at bay." I reached up to stroke a lock of his hair as he sipped his tea again, and he let out a sigh.

"How are the lads?" he asked suddenly.

"All right," I replied, slightly taken off guard by this change in the conversation.

"And Brian? Is he well?"

"As well as he has been," I answered. "His heart rate seems a little slow fer an infant."

"Is that bad?"

"It can be."

"Is there anything te be done?" I let out a sigh and shrugged.

"In this time, I dinnae ken. When I trained te be a field medic and a doctor, I didnae study bairns. The knowledge wouldnae be useful fer me on the battlefield."

"What about that medicine ye gave me? Fer my hand? Can that no' cure him?"

"The nanomeds? They cannae help Brian, I'm afraid. They're meant te repair injuries, not… not somethin' that was formed broken."

"So there's nothin' we can do," Jamie said, saying rather than asking. I didn't answer that, as I didn't want to admit that that was likely the truth.

"Come to bed, Jamie. It's late, and we both have a busy day ahead of us," I said. We both finished our tea, and then we silently climbed into bed, neither of us reaching for the other.