Chapter 4: The Watch-ful Eyes

I made it a point to let Dougal see that he wasn't going to lord it over me. And so, the next few days continued as before. He glared at me every chance he got, and I glared back. Bloody, ignorant brute! I wondered what his marriage had been like. I shuddered to think what would have transpired if he had married me as I had originally thought. I probably would've been roughed up royally on my wedding night. At least Jamie didn't force himself on me. Even without experience, he was a very thoughtful lover—well, ex- lover as the case may be.

One day, that week, I was busy washing my hair, when Jamie came bursting into the room. "Hurry, Sassenach, 'tis the watch. They're comin' this way, and if they catch me, I'm a dead man."

He shrugged into his jerkin, and buckled on his bandoleer. Grabbing his dirk, pistol, and broadsword, he fairly flew across the room. One arm reached out to me, clutching my waist, and we were out the door, my sopping wet hair leaving a trail of droplets on the floor.

We fled from the inn as fast as our legs could carry us. Leading the horses from the stable, I saw the watch as the riders came barreling over the ridge. One of them pointed at Jamie, who gave Dougal a desperate look, and shouted, "Keep her safe."

With one, long, wistful glance at me, he mounted his animal, and spurring the stallion, took off at a gallop; Angus trailing not far behind. Dougal and our remaining company veered away from the two fugitives and took to the trees on the opposite side, riding at a good clip to put some distance between us and the watch.

It was that red mane of his … I almost wished they had hair dye here in this era. It would certainly shield Jamie from the eyes that were forever watchful. That Titian hair color was a dead giveaway that he was the outlaw they were keen on capturing. While it was true that I still harbored some feelings of resentment for my erstwhile connubial partner, I certainly didn't wish for his demise.

Up until that horrendous incident, Jamie had been a sweet, doting man, and I couldn't have asked for a better husband, excluding my Frank, of course. I enjoyed his quiet humor, his sense of decorum, but most of all, his unflagging devotion to me and his kinsmen. And if I really wanted to admit it, the man was gorgeous. Jamie's physique was massive; he was built like a Greek god—a copper-headed Apollo.

We rode for hours it seemed, through streams and woods, in and around the brush. If we followed a trail, it must've been invisible. I looked about; the terrain was foreign to me. These men had a sixth sense of the direction they were going, however. Dougal obviously knew where the hell we were, even if I did not.

Rupert pulled his horse up alongside mine, so I leaned over and asked, "How will Jamie and Angus find us?"

"Jamie?" Rupert laughed. I guess he found my question somehow amusing. "Dinna be worrit about the lad, we'll all meet op at Ebenezer Bryce's stone cottage, near the Ballachulish creek. He knows the place weel enough, to be sure."

"But, it'll be dark soon."

"Aye, all the better. Ye see, the watch are no British troops. When the sun lowers in the sky, the men scurry home, they do, to their warm hearths, to sup and to bed their wives. They'll no trouble us again tonight." He smiled and winked at me. "They're right lazy rascals."

Well, that was a relief. I was getting more than tired, sitting in this uncomfortable, bloody saddle. I shifted my weight, and Rupert's brow rose, a mischievous look erupting on his face. "Lucky for ye that it was awhile afore we had to ride in the saddle, ay?"

That was an understatement. My bruises had just recently faded a few days ago.

Dougal rode on ahead, signaling the others to follow him. Rupert nodded to me. "We'll be at the cottage afore nightfall, Sassenach. He swerved his animal to the right, and took off after the warchief.

I don't know why, but I expected the bungalow to be inhabited. I suppose it had been solicited by the MacKenzies as a hiding place from the redcoats, the watch, and any neighborhood, warring clans. The interior was coated in a thick layer of dust, and had weeds growing up through the chinks in the stone floor. Lovely … But at least it offered some shelter from a storm that was brewing outside. I hoped to high heavens that the roof didn't leak. That would definitely put a damper on the evening.

I was graciously allowed the one bedroom, which boasted a small bed, a table, a chair, and fireplace. Some of Dougal's men spread out their animal-hides on the floor, and others made claim to the area in the loft.

It was getting bitter-cold; a snow flurry had started earlier, just as we approached the house. The wood piled on the hearth was dry, so Murtagh had a blaze going promptly and we sat nearby on the floor, eating a dinner of bread, cheese, and sliced apples—compliments of Rupert's dirk.

As the time passed, I got more worried about Jamie. What was taking him so long? Had he been captured after all? I tried not to think about it, but couldn't understand the nonchalant attitude of his own kin. No one except for me seemed to be the least bit concerned about his absence. He and Angus were out there somewhere, slogging through this snow. I wanted to bean these men on their cocksure heads.

It got later and later, and we all retired for the night after the fireplace in my room was putting out enough heat. Dougal actually saw to it. I guess he was keeping his word to Jamie. Finally, a chorus of roof-rattling snores came from the main room and loft. Despite the noise, I would have been able to sleep, if I wasn't so upset that Jamie hadn't returned yet.

I lay awake; my ears alerted to any little sound outside the cottage. Then it came … the unmistakable clip-clop of horses' hooves. Racing to the window, I looked out, and there was Angus, walking toward the cabin, leading a horse by the reins, with Jamie slung across it, his head and feet hanging off on either side of the saddle. Oh my god, was he dead?

Murtagh stirred when I rushed into the room and opened the door. The blast of frigid air woke the rest of the sleeping Scotsmen, who were on their feet as soon as they spotted Angus. Two of the men slid Jamie from the saddle, and carried him inside, with Angus at their heels.

"Put him on the mattress," I directed them. I turned to Angus, as they carted Jamie's limp form into the bedroom. "What happened? Was he shot?"

"No … ye ken, it was like this … The watch were gainin' on us, op on the hill, and Jamie turned to see how close they were to catchin' us. He didna see the tree branch ahead o' him 'til it was too late to do anathin' 'bout it. Knocked him straightaway off his horse, it did. He came down hard, and cracked his skull on a rock, just as sharp as ye please. The horse skittered off, and the watch trailed after it. I stayed with Jamie, but I couldna wake him op. The horse returned to us by and by, and the watch gave up the chase. I mean to tell ye; I had to make that animal kneel on the ground to get the likes of Jamie Fraser onto its back."

I placed my hand over my chest, trying to catch my breath. "Thank you, Angus. I'm so glad you went with him. I can just imagine how this would have ended had you not been with him."

Then I inquired further. "You said he hit the back of his head?"

"Oh, aye. He had a bump that swelled op big as the egg o' a goose, quite a bit o' bleedin' too."

Crooking my finger at Murtagh and Rupert, I ordered, "I'll need your help to turn him over so I can see to his injury."

Jamie was out cold, and never twitched so much as a muscle as they rolled him onto his side. The back of his head was matted with dried blood, obscuring the wound. I looked to Rupert who was crouched down beside the bed, rolling his eyes. He didn't need to ask what I wanted. Handing me his flask of whiskey, he muttered as I applied it to a clean cloth from my kit, and gently wiped away the congealed blood from my patient's coppery tresses. There was a jagged gash still oozing, but luckily, the edges were aligned closely, so no stitches were needed. Angus' assessment of the bump was right on target. Jamie would have a big headache when he woke up … if he woke up.

Looking over my shoulder, I peered at Rupert once again. "Can you get me some towels, and some water from the kitchen to clean off the rest of this blood?"

Rupert hopped up quickly, and was back with the needed supplies in good time. After cleansing away the blood and debris, I had him lift Jamie's neck and hold the corner of a cloth strip, while I bound it about Jamie's head to secure a poultice of medicinal herbs, and form a pressure dressing to stop any further bleeding.

"Murtagh, I need you and Rupert to flip him onto his back." The two men executed my orders as I searched in my medicine box for spirits of hartshorn. Murtagh shrugged, and glanced at Rupert who shook his head as I poured a bit on a small square of fabric.

"Okay, now, Jamie just might wake up suddenly, flailing about, so don't go anywhere yet. Your muscles, gentlemen, are required at this moment.

"Can each of you take an arm? I don't fancy being struck in the face."

Grinning like a fool, Rupert flexed his less than bulging biceps. "Aye, lass. At yer service."

I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing, despite the dire circumstances. There was a distinct possibility that this wouldn't work … that Jamie would remain unconscious. I couldn't give in to that kind of thinking though. Positive—think positive, Claire. It will work … it has to.

I passed the drenched square of inhalant beneath his nose, and just as I predicted, Jamie roused violently. His eyelids popped open wide, in a startled expression. "Huuuh … huh!" he sputtered. His head shook side to side, his arms straining against the men who were holding him steady, and his head lifting from the pillow. Dougal entered the room at that instant, looking down at the shuddering mass.

He bent down and patted Jamie's arm. "It's all right, Jamie. Ye're amongst friends now."

Well, that was debatable.

Jamie blinked rapidly, and the tension in his body relaxed. His human manacles released his arms, and he reached up, touching the bandage circling his head. "Where am I? How did I get here? Stars and stones—I canna remember what happened."

"It seems you had an encounter with a belligerent tree branch," I snapped.

"Huh … Sometimes, I canna understand what yer tryin' to tell me, Sassenach."

"That makes two of us," I muttered under my breath. "It means you rode head first into an overlying branch, and once again fell off your horse. Then you plummeted down and thwacked your thick Scottish cranium on a bloody rock. Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, why weren't you paying attention to where you were going? That was reckless behavior. You could have very well killed yourself."

He actually smiled up at me, his clear blue eyes twinkling, and here I was, berating him for being such an imbecile.

My arms somehow folded across my chest. "What are you grinning at?"

"It's good to hear ye talkin' to my face, even tho' ye're scoldin' me for bein' an arse."

I looked up at the ceiling and sighed, then stomped out of the room, amid the laughter of the hyenas surrounding the bed.