Chapter 3: A "Distant" Relationship

Disclaimer: Diana Gabaldon owns all rights to Outlander

I woke up once during the night, feeling something light settling on me. The next morning it became clear that Jamie had decided I needed the blanket more than he did. I saw him curled up, lying with his back flush to the wall. His plaid was pulled up around him, and his body was shaking with the cold. He, being as stubborn as I was, would hardly accept my offer of the blanket I realized, so I padded to the hearth and added several logs and kindling to the dying embers. The twigs caught fire quickly and soon a warm blaze was heating up the small room. Well, I couldn't let him freeze to death, now could I?

Jamie stirred, moaning quietly in his sleep. I watched as he flipped himself over, his hand patting the area around him, probably looking for me. Fat chance, Romeo. I walked to the only chair in the room, and tried to sit down. It was sheer torture. I winced and sprang back up again, the sound waking up the plaid-shrouded hulk in the corner. He stretched, and sat up, then pulled on his boots. I blinked, and he was out the door without a word.

After filling the chamber pot, I washed up, and put my pillow down on the chair. I settled on it in a gingerly fashion; this time, it was a little less painful with the cushion beneath me. Jamie arrived with more food, while I let out a sigh of relief.

I shook my head as he offered the plate to me. "Sassenach," he chastised. "Ye've gotta eat."

"I don't gotta do anything. Take it away!" I screamed at him.

"Yer gonna eat this if I havta shove it down yer gullet."

He placed it on my lap, and I pushed the plate off in my pique. The crockery crashed to the floor, the dish now in slivered pieces, and the bannocks and honey a gooey mess spread out in a constellation of fragments.

I could see Jamie trembling slightly in his attempt to bridle his anger. He began to lean over to pick up the pieces when I yelled, "Leave it there. I don't need your help. I'll clean it."

Standing from the chair, I took a step forward, and wavered. I grabbed the nearby night table to steady myself, and keep the room from spinning.

Jamie's mouth dropped open. "Will ye look at yerself? Ye're just about to keel o'er in a dead faint from lack of victuals. D'ye want the clan to say that Jamie Fraser couldna provide food for his own wife?

"Stars and stones, ye best lie down now. I'll fetch the matron to do the wipin' op."

I hated to admit it, but I was feeling rather woozy. I had a headache coming on too. I'd ask Mistress MacBride for some broth and tea before I passed out completely and fulfilled Jamie's prophesy.

Lorna must've read my mind because she had a tray already prepared for me. She set the tray aside, and with hands on her hips, declared, "Now, lass, what's all this foolishness? Eat op and be done wi' it. Don't let the ill feelin's toward yer man, cause ye to neglect yer belly. Ye'll be only hurtin' yer fine self."

She laughed when she looked down at the disaster sitting on the floor. "Oh my … if I'd known ye were goin' to set the crockery to flyin', I'd've given ye my chipped dishes. Ah, weel, what's doon is doon."

Standing there, she put a hand in her apron pocket and pulled out some laces. "Jamie said ye might be needin' this. I heard how yer own laces got sheared. That Captain Randall is a mean-spirited man, almost the devil himself. Ye were lucky that your husband came to fetch ye afore that beast had his way wi' ye."

With a brush of her hands, Lorna rolled up her sleeves and set to work on the sticky mess. "Weel, I'll get to cleanin' this op, and leave ye to yer breakfast."

Jamie spent most of the day either downstairs with his clansmen, or in the stables, tending to the horses. I stayed in the room, refusing to be ridiculed by that band of brigands. Their bawdy jokes disgusted me. Jamie never put a stop to it, even though he didn't actually contribute anything. He didn't ever tell stories like that, but I was assuming that he shied away from complaining on my behalf so as not to cause any discontent among the men.

That evening, Rupert and Angus pushed their way into my room, trying to persuade me to come with them and share a mug of ale. I sent them packing, and heard Angus say as they tramped down the stairs. "Aye. That one hasna forgiven Jamie yet. He married a shrew, he did. What's the poor lad to do?"

Well, what do you know? Angus wasn't as obtuse as he looked.

My husband finally showed his face late that night. I had an extra blanket that Lorna so graciously gave me, and a pillow waiting for him. He resigned himself to once again sleep on the cold stone floor without a word of protest; not that I would've shown him any mercy. My heart held no pity for him whatsoever.

The distance between us continued for the next night, but when I got out of bed to relieve myself, I noticed the pillow and blanket were gone, along with Jamie. I opened the door and there he was sound asleep near the threshold. I went back to bed. What did I care about his sleeping arrangements? As long as it wasn't with me, in my bed.

I broke the silent standoff for a discussion in the morning, asking why he was out in the hall.

He sat in the chair facing me. "I didna wanta be in the hall, Sassenach, but I couldna stand sleepin' in the same room wi' ye, knowin' ye were in that bed, and I couldna touch ye. I waited 'til Dougal and the others had retired for the night, so they wouldna see that things are no right wi' us. They've already made an opinion o' ye … as ye stay in yer room all the day long. It's addin' logs to the fire, ye might say."

Jamie suddenly leaned toward me, his clear blue eyes searching mine beseechingly. "Claire, I need to ask ye. D'ye mean to leave me, then?"

I sat on the edge of the mattress, my welts and bruises basically healed. "Where would I go? There's nothing out there for a woman alone. And Captain Randall and his bloody redcoats would have me hauled away in a heartbeat. There's your clansmen too … they'd put up a beastly fuss if we lived separately.

"I won't leave you, for appearances sake, but I will not be a wife to you. Do you understand my meaning?"

His head hung down as he answered, "Aye. Ye made it verra clear."

Being a hermit was not much fun. Hardly a word passed between Jamie and me. My only other distraction was Lorna Mac Bride, when she came up to my room to ascertain my state of health. The maids though, didn't seem to share the friendly attitude of their employer; no doubt they learned that I was putting my new groom through hell. I heard the girls in the halls some days, whispering among themselves in Gaelic. I didn't give a fig what they said about me. Let their wagging tongues fall out of their empty heads.

My self-imposed solitude started to wear on me after a few more days, and once again, I introduced myself to society, such as it was. I began coming out of the room, and eating at the table in the main dining area. The talk always seemed to reduce to a low buzz whenever I made my appearance on the staircase. It was just as well. The group gossiped about Jamie and me ever since the subject of our possible marriage was first addressed by Dougal. And people say women gossip?

Then one night, I was sleeping peacefully when I heard arguing outside in the corridor. Dougal had found Jamie, and was chastising him for sleeping in the hallway.

"Have ye no pride, man? Ye let the little wench beat ye down 'til yer nothin'? Ye canna let her wield that kind o' power o'er ye. Be strong, Jamie. She needs to be told how it is. She's the woman, and her duty is to her husband."

"I'll thank ye to stay outta this, Dougal. I'll see to it in my own due time, and certainly no tonight. I'll go back to sleep now, if ye dinna mind."

Dougal's footfalls disappeared down to his room, his words of advice still pouring out of his mouth and filling the passageway.

Several days passed, and one afternoon, I was in our room, reading when I heard the stamp of boots near our door, followed by a couple of loud thumps on the wood panel. From the sound, I immediately realized it was not Jamie.

I opened the door and was surprised to see the clan's warchief, Dougal himself, straight and tall, standing at the threshold. What did he want?

He did not look happy, and his words confirmed it. "We need to come to an understanding, Sassenach."

As if I didn't know. "About what?" I tossed back at him.

His eyes were mere slits, and his jaw as taut as the head on a drum. "About what ye're doin' to the boy. Are ye planning to shackle him in a loveless marriage for the rest o' his bairn days?"

"What transpires between Jamie and me is no concern of yours."

"Aye, under any other circumstances it wouldna be, but the lad isna thinkin' right in his head. He's verra sick wi' longin' for ye, we're afeared that he'll be no much good if the watch or the redcoats come a'gunnin' after us."

I jiggled my head, and sneered. "That's your problem."

Dougal grabbed me by the shoulders, shaking me. "That's what I'm tryin' to tell ye. Now, ye'll do right by Jamie, or I'll thrash ye myself. And ye can be sure that ye'll no be able to sit for more'n a fortnight when I'm through wi' ye. Yer Jamie went too easy on ye, but I will no. Ye'll learn yer place, and be more lovin' to the boy.

"Now, I don't expect to see yer husband hidin' himself away with the horses, nor snoozin' on the floor ouside yer doorstep, ye ken?"

I was pushed away from him, roughly.

"Are you threatening me?"

"If ye will … I'll give ye a week , and if Jamie doesna stop his mopin' about, I'll be back with a strip of leather in my hand. Ye best have regard for yer marriage, wench, or leastways that fine arse of yers."

He didn't scare me one bit. I scowled back at him. "Jamie might have something to say about that. I'm his wife, in case you've forgotten."

"Then, be one, damn ye!" With that, he turned, and tromped down the stairs.

The nerve of that man. How dare he? I didn't care that he was the warchief of the MacKenzies. What kind of man threatened another man's wife, even if it was in name only?