The stench of the dilapidated house permeates through the air, grabbing her stomach in its vice grip and twisting until she can feel the bile tickle the back of her throat. Claire had spent most of the day breathing through the handkerchief, hoping to quell the urge to retch right then and there, but as she lays blankets on the floor near the hearth, her nose is exposed, her stomach threatening to spill more than just its contents to the other occupants of the house.
"Ye alright, Sassenach?" The question startling her out of her thoughts, her husband's hand coming to rest on the small of her back, where it so often makes its home. She feels the stress of the day melt away at just his touch. The horror of the events that unfolded settling somewhere around them, knocking furiously on the forefront of her mind to let them in, but remained locked out with him by her side.
She nods with a close-mouthed smile not quite reaching her eyes. She can see his concerned stare roving over every inch of her, as if making his own examination, making sure she stood whole before him. That widens her smile a bit more, crinkling her eyes at the care that he never shies away from. Concern written across his face, as if settling on a conclusion even she's not aware of.
"This wasna how I imagined our day goin'," he gestures with his head towards the makeshift cradle she'd created for the sleeping infant.
"No," she sighs, sinking to the floor on the heap of blankets. "No, it wasn't," she replies barely above a whisper. Her body aches atop the wood floor, the blankets doing little to ease her discomfort. It's only when she feels Jamie's arm wrap around her that she stills, exhaling, only then noticing that she'd been holding her breath. The steady beat of his chest against her back, beating for them both, and she scoots further into him, her body long ago having curved itself to fit into every last crevice of the man who had moulded his strong figure of marble to fit her soft form, warm with its spark.
His hand finds its solace across her stomach, gripping her gently, tracing invisible patterns across the fabric of her clothes, as if following a long since mapped trail to her heart. The rhythmic swirl and dip of his fingers have her eyes softly fluttering, the light of the flames dance across the house, lighting the baby in its glow, and she can feel the tears prick her eyes at all that she'd lost, the thoughts barreling in, pillaging her happiness. Images of Jamie holding the small baby in his giant hands, the same ones that gripped her so softly, send a shiver through her, causing him to pull her closer.
It was an image she'd never witnessed with their own children, one that had left a hole in her heart that no amount of time could ever seem to fill. No blame or resentment even dared place itself on Jamie, but an aching wound of despair, her empty arms curling around his hanging arm, her nails leaving crescents in his skin, and she can feel his brow scrunch behind her.
It's a certain kind of guilt that encompasses her, the kind that makes her feel ungrateful for the blessings she's been offered - her daughter, Brianna, her grandson, Jemmy, the man she'd crossed heaven and earth to be with lying by her side. To grieve for what was lost feels like she's chancing fate to take from her all that she had been given.
"Cadail gu math, mo ghràidh," he murmurs into my hair, the words familiar like his touch, uttered most nights, not so much a command, as a wish to scare away the demons that her mind might have conjured up, his words wielding a sword of defense. But tonight it was as if she'd spent too much time walking beside the sea, the memories coming to her like a wave, the tide high, dragging her out, drenching her in what could've been, threatening to sink her in fear, in longing, pulling her under to sleep with only the feel of Jamie's hand on her stomach tethering her to the here and now.
xxxxx
The dreary overcast day swirls above her, an angry ocean of tears waiting to engulf her in their downpour. The weight of the infant in her arms, barely there mewls against her, and she feels that tug in her stomach, the one that buries deeply, growing with every second, spreading worry throughout her. Pulling the baby closer, she bounces on the balls of her feet, her hand gently tapping the same beat as her husband's this morning against her shoulder.
Swaying with the wind, her stomach lurches, and her eyes shut quickly, not wanting to lose it with a baby in her arms. She stills, grounding herself in the grey of the morning, to be met with the worried blue of the man standing before her.
"I'm fine," she starts before he can say a word, and he nods at her, a twitch of his lips letting her know that he wasn't quite so sure he believed her, but kept his words at bay. "We should get going," she says, moving past him to stand by the horses.
"Rushin' me now, are ye?" He quirks a grin, hoping to get her smiling, the comfort spreading over her as if his arm was still around her, wrapping her in its warm embrace with promises that all would be well.
"I wouldn't dream of it," she teases. "But this one might object," she motions, a small hand briefly making an appearance from the wrap she held so snugly against her.
"Aye, blame it on the bairn," his joke falling flat even to his own ears, but his eyes shift down her, briefly, before shooting back up to meet her gaze, looking away, as if weathering his own storm building, a lightning strike of emotion, one she couldn't quite identify passing through him.
He moves to further adjust the reins of the horses for what feels like the third time. The extra care for their added cargo not going unnoticed by her, but then she knows that for as reckless as he sometimes is with his own life, he risks nothing when it comes to her, her safety something he'd be willing to give up everything for, and had at one point.
She feels that tug again, the one that yanks her back to the past, even further than she'd traveled, the one that has her continually saying goodbye at Wentworth, at Prestonpans, at Culloden, like she'd told Brianna before they'd left - leaving her father, Jamie, never got easier, not even a piece of her taken, but her whole heart ripped from her chest each time, only returned with the man himself. She can still feel the desperation clinging to her, the sticky tears sliding down her face, the nausea building, the promise of more resting inside her, with the looming vow of forever about to be shattered. The fear grips her still, the knowledge of knowing that no good comes when they're separated, the taste of something so close, the smell of blood, the sound of her screams, hands grabbing at nothing save for sheets drenched in her sweat, strangling the life from her, her only home that of a heartbeat and soft gaelic prayer whispered in the night, to keep her and the child safe.
Faith.
Her fingers pass over the downy soft hair of the baby in her arms, her dark locks in direct contrast to the copper of her baby, but the cup of her head in her hands feeling eerily similar.
Brianna.
The weight against her chest , that same copper hair staring back at her, a scarlet letter proudly displaying who the rightful father was to anyone who saw her.
Just like our daughters.
"Sassenach."
She's broken from her reverie, his hand resting on her hip, thumb anchoring her. The look passing over his face tells her that she must have said that last part aloud.
Her eyes water, a lone tear giving away her resolve, a quivering lip close to follow, her body betraying her silent struggle to be alright.
Jamie's hand moves to tangle in her hair, and she finds herself leaning into his touch, gathering strength from the gathering of the same tears that flood his eyes - bringing the stubble of his cheek to scratch his promise with a breath into her ear.
"I willna part from ye this time."