Chapter 11: Return to Leoch

I went about dressing the various scrapes and gashes, and especially the deep laceration at his shoulder. Jamie's ribs were also badly bruised from all the kicking those red-coated ruffians blessed him with. I tentatively touched one area to ascertain the extent of the damage.

"Does that hurt?"

He flinched at my touch, letting out a hiss between his teeth. "Aye, a bit, but only when I breathe." Jamie's lips turned up in a slight smile.

I ignored his attempt at levity. There was nothing funny about the battering his body sustained. I felt along the bone. "It may be broken. I'll strap it up just as a precautionary measure."

Getting up on my knees, I thought about this whole situation. It was very like a déjà vu of the first time I had to wrap fabric strips about him. I carefully wound the cloth around his chest, trying to avoid inflicting any more pain on the poor man.

His head tilted up, his eyes piercing mine suddenly. "Are ye all right, Claire?"

I jerked in surprise. The man was a pitiful sight, and yet he was worried about me? "Am I all right? Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ. You're a hulking mass of bruises, and you're asking me if I'm all right?"

I tied off the bandage, and promptly plopped down on my rump, bursting into tears. My head was immediately cupped in one of Jamie's hands, hugging it to his uninjured shoulder. "Shh … shh … 'tis fine, Sassenach. Randall isna more."

. . . . .

We slept like the dead that night, exhaustion overtaking us, and during the early morning, I had a very vivid dream. I was weaving my fingers through Jamie's copper tresses, and when I awoke, realized that it was more than a dream. He was sighing contentedly, as I continued gently ruffling his hair. His shining blue eyes slowly slid open, and a smile broke like the dawn on his face. "I like when ye do that. 'Tis verra soothin'. It calms the churnin' in my stomach and settles my heart."

My palm instinctively stroked his cheek, the rough stubble on his face grated against it, evidence that this was based in reality. He was actually, bodily near me. "It settles my heart too ... being able to touch you, to know that you're here, alive and with me."

"Aye. I dinna ken what will happen tomorrow, but nothin' can be worse than what we experienced the day past. What wi' Randall dead, and Dougal as weel, 'tis fair to say that maybe our luck has changed."

Cupping his face in my hands, I groaned, "I was so scared, Jamie, and not so much for my own life, but scared of losing you. I don't ever want to feel that way again. After being together, I could never live without you by my side. It would be worse than death; my spirit would with go with you, leaving me an empty shell. God, it's almost sinful the way I love you."

"I ken yer meaning, Claire, for I love ye as weel—maybe too much for my own good. Ye have this power over me, and I canna break it, nor do I wanta … whate'er Dougal said to the contrary."

My sweet husband sighed and moving closer, began what I recognized as a preliminary to love making. I chastised him soundly, even as his lips moved over my throat. "Jamie, you can't. You're hurt, and no telling what could happen. You'll be risking a total break of your rib and possibly puncture the lung with all that activity. If you want, I can satisfy you in another way."

"No, Claire, I'll no take my pleasure wi'out givin' ye the same."

"I don't mind, really …"

"I'll just go back to sleep, then." He turned his head after kissing me with an aching tenderness.

Burrowing under the blankets, my hand crept lower on his torso, followed with my tongue. "Are you sure, Scotty?" I asked saucily.

His head reared back, lolling on the pillow, his fists clenching the bedding. "Weel … huuuh … och … ah, woman ... huuuuh … I am bedeviled."

When I completed my ministrations, and my randy Scotsman was finished as well, we drifted off to sleep again for a little while. Jamie reawakened not long after, and left a quick peck on my cheek. He whispered, "Weel, op wi' ye, for my belly's cryin' for sustenance. If I dinna fill it soon, the growlin' will wake op the whole o' the camp."

Angus sat up from his pallet just then. "While ye're at it, fetch me an oat cake from my saddle bag, will ye? My belly's makin' its wants kent as weel. Ye can take a couple for yer trouble."

After Jamie's rumbling stomach was filled to capacity and his libido satisfied, he and I rolled up our hides and disassembled the tent. We then arranged our belongings, fastening them to our horses. Only one more night sleeping under the stars, and soon we'd be seeing the stone walls of Castle Leoch.

. . . . .

Mutagh was ecstatic about Captain Randall's prize stallion falling into our hands. He lovingly groomed it, and changed out the bridle and other telltale British accouterments. He led the caravan proud as a peacock. Rupert followed, riding his own sorrel and leading the black horse carrying the late warchief's remains.

As we approached the last camp area before reaching our final destination, Dougal's body began slipping from the constraints tying him to the saddle. Jamie and I had been riding behind the beast for the last few miles, and he yelled for Rupert to hold up.

Jamie jumped down quickly just in time to catch the shrouded carcass, as it slithered down the left flank of the animal. In the meantime, Rupert dropped the reins to both horses, and came round to help re-position the corpse. The binding around his head and shoulders were loose, and so I held the body steady while they labored to cinch the blanket closed again. Rupert uncovered the face, gripping the wool fabric tighter to ensure better coverage. The dead man's eyes were wide open in the last vestiges of shock, and I saw the look on Jamie's face.

He never uttered a word, when the grim task was completed, but helped me up into my saddle, and swiftly mounted Trom Laighe.

. . . . .

I felt like I could breathe again knowing that Leoch was just one day away. Everyone seemed in merry spirits—everyone except Jamie, that is. He kept pacing up and down, his brow furrowed.

When he retired to our tent, he yanked off his boots, and flopped back onto the pillow, his forearm lying across his eyelids. "I killed him, Sassenach. My own flesh and blood. The man who taught me to fight, the man who made it possible for ye to be my lawfully wedded wife. I didna want to draw my steel agin' him—and yet, curse me—I did." He exhaled loudly. "I ne'er raised a sword to my own kin afore. I'm sore displeased wi' myself. I shouldha found another way round 'bout it. But the thing o' 'tis; I'd do it agin if it meant I could keep ye."

I couldn't believe he was blaming himself for his uncle's demise. I remained sitting upright, and looked down on him. "There's nothing for you to regret. Your feelings are wrong about this. That filthy bastard forced you into it. He knew the consequences of his actions; one of you would most certainly be dead. He probably counted on how easily he could run you through. Dougal even bloody-well plotted your capture, to divert the attention from himself. He was going to snatch me from your very arms."

I licked my lips, and shaking my head, continued to rationalize what had occurred. "Murtagh says your uncle was jealous of our happiness, and he wanted the Lairdship for himself too. Don't you see? Colum would be following you to the grave as well.

"And another thing … I never told you this, but on our wedding night, while you were asleep, I crept downstairs to get more whisky. Dougal was still there, and he made advances to me. He said that just because I was married to you, didn't mean I couldn't sample other pleasures."

I lay down on the pallet, positioned on my side. "He meant to keep me close so he could take me anytime of his choosing. That's the only reason he had me marry you. After all, you were his nephew, and you'd do what you were told, even if it was to look the other way during your uncle's lascivious encounters. Then when I told him I was your wife and duty bound to you, he became very upset. I heard him fighting downstairs after our conversation. Rupert made a lewd comment about how well you had performed your husbandly duties, and Dougal cuffed him. I couldn't help but overhear the sound of the blow and Rupert's surprised response. So you see, you had no choice."

With his voice just above a whisper, he stammered, "Still … I—"

"No, don't. Everyone there that day exonerated you. It was a fair fight. You would've been dead yourself otherwise. And anyway, do you think I would be happy living with that frightful man, knowing he was responsible for your death? Jamie, think about it. You were fighting for your life … for Colum's life, for my life as your loving companion."

I scooted closer to my sweetheart, and rose up on one elbow. He needed my touch whether he said so or not. "Shh … now close your eyes and go to sleep, my Scotty." I reached over and began threading my fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp gently, hoping to once again calm his churning stomach, and settle his heart. His breathing evened out, and became more shallow. I tucked the blankets around him, and snuggled down, resting my head on the pillow of his shoulder. I drifted into a heavy sleep, and neither of us woke until daybreak.

. . . . .

He was in better spirits the next day, until we reached the castle courtyard. Then he began looking around nervously as Dougal's body was taken down from his horse and carried to the interior corridors of Leoch. Murtagh trotted closer and spoke. "Ye go on down to Nettle creek. I'll meet ye there, and let ye ken if 'tis safe to come back."

Jamie nodded in agreement, and turned Trom Laighe away from the stone walls and gestured to me to follow him.

I wasn't stupid. It was obvious that Jamie needed to be cautious. He killed his uncle, after all. Colum would miss his brother and his warchieftain. Then too, there were sure to be some clansmen who would not take that information lightly. But again, Jamie did have some supporters that wanted him to preside as the new Laird on Colum's death. Would they put it to a vote, or would the naysayers just slit his throat while he explained what happened? What they would do to him was a question I couldn't answer. So it was with great urgency that Jamie and I galloped away to Nettle Creek.

Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ! I was so tired of running; first from Randall, then the watch, then Dougal, Randall again, and now even Colum, and the rest of Jamie's bloody relatives. When would it ever end?

. . . . .

We neared the creek, and Jamie and I dismounted, leading the horses to the water. There were patches of snow on the ground, and the soft crunch under the animals' hooves, along with the gently rippling of the stream made the only sounds.

"What will happen now? Will they try to hang you?"

"I dinna ken, Sassenach. Murtagh and the others will plead my case afore Colum. He'll make a decision."

"I can't live like this, Jamie. My heart can't take it anymore."

"Aye. 'Tis a hard life what wi' enemies risin' from the verra rocks. Stars and stones, sometimes I wish I could die and be doon wi' it. Verra tiring 'tis, waitin' for the stroke of the blade to cut me down. If I didna have ye wi' me, I should go mad."

He walked the horses to a nearby tree and tethered them there, then unrolled the animal hides. We sat together on it, arms encircling each other, and waited for Murtagh to arrive with the news for good or ill.