Chapter 7: A Sudden Skirmish

Disclaimer: Diana Gabaldon owns all rights to Outlander

In the following weeks, we traveled from place to place, always on the lookout for those bloody red coats, and the Black watch. It was a horrendous way to live, but at least I had my Jamie constantly at my side.

Now that we had reconciled, I slowly came to admire him. He possessed a calm disposition—always so matter of fact, except when the situation demanded more. I felt secure whenever he was with me. He'd already risked his own personal safety, not once, but three times to save my life and my honor, and I dare say he would gladly do it again, any time the need arose.

I found myself comparing him to my former husband. Poor Frank … since returning from the war, he seemed reticent to initiate any physical contact between us. On the other hand, Jamie was a force of nature. It was like being caught in a whirlwind, but willingly succumbing to its power—even to the point of embracing it.

Jamie was a born story teller and a poet at heart. His words of love were purely drawn from somewhere deep in his soul, and he plucked them out whenever the occasion called for it. They were never sappy or contrived—a line if you will—but a sincere declaration directly from his heart. If I had been younger, and more naive, I would venture to say they would nearly reduce me to a fit of swooning. The man was well equipped with an unending supply of Cupid's darts, and his aim was straight and true.

It was with shame that I realized my memories of Frank were becoming dimmer; overshadowed by the love I felt for Jamie. I hoped that he could move on without me, because, in all honesty, I couldn't leave my bonny Scotsman—not now. With the dawn of each day, he became that much dearer to me. He was firmly rooted in my heart, in the deepest depths, and to leave him would destroy any will I possessed to live.

The men probably wondered what on earth we could possibly find to talk about every day. The truth was, we enjoyed each other's company, and I could listen to Jamie for hours. We would sit apart from the rest, and exchange the thoughts running through our heads.

One time, we sat quietly at day's end, on a moss covered log, a plate between us, laden with bread, roasted rabbit and cheese. I broke off a piece of the bread and placed it on Jamie's tongue. The words all at once, began to tumble from my mouth. "The day on which your bloody warchief told me I was to be married, I thought he meant to him! When I asked Dougal to clarify his statement, he blared, No, Sassenach. I wouldna like to lock horns wi' ye from sun op 'til sundoon. I need my strength to fight the redcoats—or something to that effect.

Jamie finished chewing the scrap and swallowed. "Ah, so he supposed ye'd do a might better to wed someone wi' a less fiery temperament then, ay?"

I chuckled. "Yes, and even though I didn't want to get married, if I was forced into it, then I was glad my groom turned out to be you."

There was a smile in his bright blue eyes, as he tenderly grazed the side of my face with the back of his hand. "No more glad than I was … to be yer groom. Did ye ken as I was in love wi' ye e'en afore the ceremony?"

"I didn't know … I saw you and Loaghaire together one evening, and thought you and she were an item."

His eyes narrowed. "An item ye say?"

"A couple … girlfriend and boyfriend."

His face alighted with comprehension. "Ah …

"Weel, would ye like to know why I kissed her that night then?"

Rolling my eyes about, I countered with, "I thought that was pretty obvious."

"Nay … isna obvious atall. I was wantin' to see if ye'd get jealous."

I'm sure I must've blushed scarlet when I admitted, "I did."

His mouth upturned in a satisfied smirk. "Did ye, now?'

I nodded. "Yes."

"Good." With that, he crooked his arm about my neck to bring my head closer, and met my lips in a lingering kiss.

With the food all gone, I ventured into a more intimate subject. "Can I ask you something? And be serious now."

"I make ye no promises," he retorted, laughing.

"Before you were coerced into this marriage, did you plan on having a family?"

Jamie's expression changed; a far off look in his eyes. "Aye, at one time, I did … but I can see it bein' hard on a bairn when the father has a price on his head."

He turned his gaze to me once more. "I ken what yer tryin' to say, Sassenach. Geillis told me ye canna have children. If the lord blesses me to get ye wi' child, then so be it. But it makes no difference to me, I love ye just the same, children or no."

I put my head on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Jamie."

"Nay, lass. Ye need no be sorry. It'll be all right. I love ye, and that's enough for me." He held me to his chest, his fingers lightly stroking my back.

For the next several days, the men went out in threes, beating the bushes for any sign of enemies in the area, British or otherwise. We were safe for the time being. The moss covered log in the meantime became a laughing place, for Jamie and me. And one night in particular, it became a laughing place for everyone.

The weather had turned impossibly colder, and even with my overcoat, I was shivering. Jamie, bless his heart, wrapped his wool tartan around us. He looked up into my eyes, and said, "You are so beautiful, Sassenach. Just the sight o' ye makes me tremble with want. So much so, I'm apt to shive ye right here on this log."

"In front of all your relatives?"

"Nay … look behind ye, lass. It willna take me verra long, and there's a good bit o' soft moss … leaves and such. They'd make a fine cushion, for that bonny arse of yers."

"Are you insane? You'll do no such thing."

His grin widened. "And who's to stop me?"

"Jamie Fraser! You're becoming as crude as your bloody counterparts." I shoved him, and he lost his balance. Unfortunately for me, he grabbed my arm to steady himself, and we both tumbled backward over the log.

Jamie's assumption was correct; the forest debris was spongy and thick enough that only our pride had been hurt. Our audience erupted into laughter and applause. We poked our heads up above our recent perch in embarrassment. As we walked around to seat ourselves once more, I caught my foot on a loose stone, stumbling, and Jamie had to prevent my fall, by sweeping me up in his arms. And the crowd went wild.

Jamie touted. "That's enough, lads. The show's o'er."

Rupert winked at Jamie. "Are ye sure 'bout that? Doesna look it from where I'm standin'."

I pinched Jamie's cheek, to reclaim his attention. "When you're quite finished …"

Bobbing noses with me, Jamie answered, "But there's the rub. Ye see, I'm no quite finished … no yet, and I best finish my work, ay? Ne'er be it said that Jamie Fraser left a job undoon."

Jamie trotted to our pallet, plunked me down, and threw the blankets over us, covering us from the crown of our heads to the heels of our feet. I was mortified.

Pulling the covers down off our faces a minute later, Jamie said, "Just a bit o' a joke."

I overheard quite a few disgruntled sounds, now that their entertainment was cut short. I thumped my idiot husband with a pillow in revenge, but his ensuing barrage of kisses appeased my wrath, and after the rest of the men began snoring, I was once more undoon by my Scottish seducer.

On waking up the next morning, I found Jamie with a look of guilt in his eyes. His hand reached for a tendril of my hair, winding it about his index finger. "Can I ask ye somethin', Claire?"

I sat up. "What is it?"

"Ye're not mad at me for that wee joke last night, are ye?"

Gazing down at him, I answered, "Not mad, just a little embarrassed. I couldn't believe my sweet husband was becoming like all the rest of the men. I thought you were better than that—with more integrity."

"Aye. I see now as it was wrong. I promise ye, Sassenach. I willna e'er embarrass ye like that agin. I want ye always to be proud o' me.

"Am I forgiven then?"

"Yes."

"Good."

Our respite was cut short two days later when young Willy and Angus came barreling into camp to warn us—the redcoats were only three miles away.

We were on the run—tout de suite, and surprisingly we were again riding to the Bryce cottage. Dougal explained, "The Brits have already routed us from the place, wouldna we be crazy to return? They'll ne'er think to search there agin."

I guess his rationale was sound, but when we arrived, there were horses stabled nearby, and wispy, grey curls rising from the chimney. It didn't take long for the squatters to sense our presence, and they raced out the door, trying to escape.

What followed was utter chaos; everything happened so fast as to make my head spin.

The crack of gunfire filled the air; the horses shying this way and that. A bullet whistled by my ear, missing me by inches. Jamie skirted around me, he and his horse shielding me from the flying projectiles, all the while firing back at the brigands.

One of the gunmen shot the horse right from underneath Murtagh, and the beast crumpled to the ground, its rider rolling off quickly to avoid being crushed under its weight.

Our enemies were outnumbered two to one, and within minutes, there were three corpses lying in the snow, their blood staining it red. Apparently, they had very little ammunition, and so the skirmish lasted just a few scant minutes, and miraculously, none of us were harmed in the melee.

When my racing heart returned to normal, I noticed that these soldiers seemed different; their uniforms dirty, in need of mending, their general appearance unkempt.

Rupert spit on the ground in disgust. "Deserters," he said in a derogatory tone. As much as the Scots hated the British soldiers, they absolutely despised anyone who would turn their back on their own country.

Angus dismounted, and kicked at one of the dead, presumably to make sure that he was. "Filthy turncoats!" He looked up at Dougal for direction. "D'ye want the uniforms stripped from these buggers?"

"Aye, but we'll no be burning them. They might come in handy some day. Now, take a good look around inside, we want no more surprises from the likes of these murderin' bastards."

Murtagh was muttering Gaelic curses, all the while, shaking his head and looking at his fallen mount, which was whinnying pitifully. He was aggravated beyond belief. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph, another good steed shot to hell." He pressed his weapon to the animal's head, and pulling the trigger, put it out of its misery.

Jamie jumped from his horse, running to help me down off my saddle. "Are ye all right, Sassenach?"

His arms wound tightly about me, and his lips traveled over my throat, and up my jaw, his breathing heavy and furious. "I'm fine," I stated matter of factly, but when he walked me into the newly secured house, I suddenly felt weak, and began to tremble uncontrollably.

I couldn't seem to stop shaking. Jamie latched onto me, carrying me into the bedroom. He set me down on the bed, then sat himself on the edge of the mattress, drawing me onto his lap. I buried my face into his shoulder, trying to blot out the scene from my mind. It was useless; it played over and over, imbuing my brain with the grisly sight like a broken record.

I'd seen some hair-raising things during the war—men screaming in pain, blood dripping from lacerations wide as rivers, entrails protruding from abdomens, but it was always behind the fortification of a field hospital, never in the midst of an actual battle.

I clung to Jamie for comfort, hoping the strength of his body would somehow sustain me. It took several minutes to finally release my tenacious hold on him. His hand continued to pat my back, his mouth running along my neck, kissing me a million times over.

My voice quavered as I said, "Don't let me go, Jamie. Please don't."

He answered reassuringly, "I willna let ye go. I got ye, Claire, I got ye."

Jamie never left my side for the remainder of the day, and was adhered to me for the whole night.

My Scotsman kissed me awake the following morning, and I took that opportunity to blurt out an apology. "I feel like such a coward for falling apart like that yesterday."

"Nay, Sassenach, it was yer first time in the thick o' it, and I ken why ye got so scairt. It was verra upsetting. Me and the lads are used to guns and swords and such. Ye're a woman, and we didna expect ye to join in the battle wi' us. Ye shouldna be worrit 'bout it. 'Tis our duty to protect ye, as ye canna protect yerself."

I sniffled and held him close, until he remarked, "Up wi' ye, and meet the new dawn. Let's fill our bellies, and get on wi' it, ay?"

Get on with it? My life was a shambles. The only stabilizing force was my dear, sweet Jamie. What would I do if he should ever die? I left Frank behind, but if I lost my beloved Scotsman too, what would there be to live for?