Chapter 14: Invasion of the Sassenachs

Disclaimer: Diana Gabaldon owns all rights to Outlander.

Strolling outside in the courtyard was a refreshing break from the stifling confines of the surgery. I breathed in the cool fresh air and looked up as a flock of geese swept overhead, obviously startled by something.

I heard them before they came into view. Murtagh was in the lead. His horse preceded a cart crammed with redcoats, some of them deserters, apparently. They were all in various positions seated on the rough hewn planks, with Angus and Rupert riding alongside as guards, I imagined.

As the cart lurched by me, I noticed one soldier lying prone, and moaning in pain. I hurriedly hitched up my skirts and began to run. Yelling to Murtagh, I directed him, "Take that wounded man to the surgery, and be quick about it. I'll meet you inside."

Quickly, I cleaned my hands and poured distilled alcohol over them. With a clean sheet already spread over the examining table, I began setting out my instruments on the nearby cabinet. A few minutes later, two men carried in the injured soldier and lay him on the prepared surface. I recognized one of them as Corporal Hawkins, and nodded at him.

"Corporal Hawkins."

"Ma'am."

I pivoted my head away from him, focusing attention on my patient. There was a widening river of blood seeping down the front of his uniform. It was an officer's uniform, I noticed.

The poor man was groaning with pain. I looked up at the other soldier. "Lift his head."

I touched a bottle of thebaic tincture his lips, giving him an adequate dose.

With his brow creased with worry, Hawkins asked, "Is Major Brighton going to be all right?"

I tried to speak low enough so that the wounded man would have difficulty hearing. "I can't say with any certainty. I'll have to look first. Can you help me remove his jacket and doublet?"

At that very moment, Angus and Rupert barged in, guns cocked, and ready to blow the corporal's head off.

"Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, put those pistols away! This is Corporal Hawkins. He's a friend."

Angus' mouth curled up in an angry sneer. "Dinna be daft, lass. He's a Sassenach."

"So am I, you bloody fools. Now either help me here, or remove yourselves from this room."

"Dinna fash, woman. We only wanted to protect ye from the enemy, ye ken."

"Well, there are no enemies here. So, if you intend to stay here, go wash your hands and stand by to hand me instruments as I require them."

Grumbling, Rupert pointed at Hawkins, and scowling, said, "What 'bout the wee corporal, here?"

"As soon as we get this damn uniform off, he can wash his hands as well. Now, hop to it!"

I turned and glared at the other man, a deserter, who had remained silent all this time. "You—do you have a name?"

"Yes, ma'am. It's Robert Horrocks."

I started at the name. He had to be the same Horrocks that Munroe had told us about. "All right then, Robert, you need to wash your hands with the others. And hurry, I can't let this man hemorrhage to death waiting on you."

After administering another dose of the narcotic, I instructed Hawkins to hold pressure on the shoulder wound with a thick wad of cloth while my two Scotch helpers, along with Robert held the man securely. When the bleeding was curtailed enough, I had Hawkins hand me some forceps, and told them, "Hold him steady now."

The bullet wasn't embedded very deeply, and I retrieved it on my initial attempt. Then I disinfected the wound thoroughly with alcohol, and applied a poultice of herbs.

With the aid of these men, the work was accomplished swiftly, and they were off to transfer the patient to a room on the second floor. Angus, ever the suspicious one, took the first watch outside his door. Idiot … the Major was in no shape to undertake an escape. He was in a castle stronghold, surrounded by hundreds of armed highlanders, for god's sake.

Jamie was well aware that ex-private Horrocks was among the other deserters, and they all had been led away to the keep, but Jamie let Corporal Hawkins walk unhindered within Leoch. He was even allowed to sit at my right hand at the supper table.

Hawkins was tense, and I felt it was up to me to break the ice so to speak. "Corporal Hawkins, you don't have to tell me if it's too uncomfortable, but I am curious. How did the Major happen to get shot?" I asked.

He had been cutting into a slice of lamb on his plate, and put down his fork. "I suppose it's no secret. Your kinsmen can tell you the facts, but since you asked ... There were three of us riding back to Fort William, when we were ambushed by that pack of deserters. They were after our horses. We were outnumbered two to one, and the major ordered us to stand down, but Private Hardy refused to give up his mount, and was killed outright. A stray bullet hit the Major during the skirmish. That's when your Highlanders arrived, and took us all prisoner. It stands to reason that we should all be dead if not for that occurrence.

"I must say, I was extremely pleased to see you in the courtyard. I knew no further harm would come to us, dear lady."

"I was only too glad to help, whatever the color of the uniform."

While the discussion with the corporal was easy enough, some of the other diners were a bit unnerved having a lobsterback seated at the same table. Their conversation wasn't as lively as usual, except for a certain couple—Laoghaire and Kyle, to be exact—that seemed to be oblivious to the surrounding clansmen.

Jamie honed in on the couple, his gaze practically burning a hole right through them. He began muttering in Gaelic, then turned to me, complaining, "It's indecent the way they look at each other, like they're apt to op and take a bite, or some such thing. Plain lust, 'tis."

"You don't think you look at me like that?"

"That's different."

My eyebrow rose of its own accord. "Why?"

"It isna obvious? We're marrit, is why. And I dinna give ye the eye, 'til ye're safe inside our room, behind a bolted door."

"Is that so?"

"Aye."

"What about the time out in the meadow?"

"There wasna another eyeball to be seein' us, ye ken."

"And that day in the barn?"

His head canted, nodding slightly. "Ah, if ye count the wee goat, then."

"I do … and he nearly chewed the laces off my bodice."

Jamie straightened up in his seat. "Weel, I still say they need to act more respectable in a public place."

"That's like the pot calling the kettle black. I distinctly remember your clansmen telling bawdy jokes while in my presence."

"Aye … and ye'll remember as I ne'er added to their infernal comments."

"But you never made them stop, either."

"Ye'll excuse me for sayin' so, but 'twas all o' them agin' one o' me."

"All right, you win, Scotty. You want them to stop making goo-goo eyes in company? Arrange their marriage then."

"I will. I'll talk wi' Ned, and the lass' father, Kieran MacKenzie, in the morn. They'll be marrit in three weeks."

"Good."

During this whole conversation, Corporal Hawkins sat quietly with an amused expression on his face.

The corporal accompanied me with every visit to the major for the next three days. He even helped me in the surgery, explaining that he wanted to feel useful.

The major had developed a fever, and Hawkins was extremely helpful in applying cool, wet cloths to the officer's axilla and groin, taking it upon himself to shield me from viewing the patient's intimate body parts. He was there also, positioning him so I could administer his medicine.

On the fourth day, the man's fever had broken, and he was able to talk intelligently. His appetite had also returned, and his faithful comrade in arms assisted him in and out of bed, and down the halls to regain his strength.

I was measuring his pulse, when Hawkins, who was sitting beside the bed, asked, "Do you know where you are, sir?"

"Is this not Castle Leoch?"

"Yes, and do you know who the Laird is?"

"I believe it's Colum MacKenzie?"

"Was … the new Laird is James Fraser, commonly known as Red Jamie."

Major Brighton suddenly sat upright. "Red Jamie? Are you sure, man?"

"I'm certain of it, but I have important news about him."

"Go on, I'm listening."

"I was bringing food to the prisoners when I overheard an interesting conversation. One of the deserters, Robert Horrocks—I think his name is—confessed that Captain Randall falsely accused Fraser of killing his Sergeant Major. Horrocks witnessed the whole thing. It was another deserter, Thomas Bingham who shot the man. Fraser didn't even have a pistol in his possession on that day, and was too weak to carry one. The real muderer is coincidentally, in the keep at this time."

"So then, Red Jamie is innocent of the charges?"

"It would appear so, sir."

I dropped the major's wrist, and fought for my breath. If it wasn't for the bed's nearness, I would have fallen to the floor.

Corporal Hawkins glanced at me in alarm. "Ma'am, are you quite all right?"

"Yes, Corporal. It was just a shock, to hear you say those words. Jamie has been trying to find Horrocks all this time to prove his innocence."

The major appeared confused. I explained to him, "My name is Claire Fraser; I'm Jamie's wife."

Major Brighton bowed his head in acknowledgement. "I'm grateful to you, Mistress Fraser, and I promise you that no further harassment will follow you or your husband."

Leaving Hawkins at the major's bedside, I raced throughout the castle searching for my sweetheart. Jamie came round a corner as I bumped into his chest. He took my harried and breathless condition as a sign of disaster, and quickly drew his sword.

"Sassenach, has one o' the prisoners escaped the keep?"

I couldn't get the words out; my lungs screaming for air. I shook my head, and he re-sheathed his weapon.

"Has someone died, then?"

For the second time, I shook my head, no, inhaling a great gulp of air.

Now he was really concerned, and grabbed me by the shoulders. "Stars and stones, woman, tell me what the matter is."

"Jamie … Jamie …!" I sputtered. "Horrocks confessed, and the major knows. You're no longer an outlaw."

He slumped back against the wall. "I'm free?"

With tears in his eyes, he whispered. "I'm free. I'm free!"

Shooting away from the wall, he picked me up by the waist, and whirled me around. Then ploughing his fingers through my hair, pulled me to him, and kissed me thoroughly. A servant cleared his throat, warning us of his presence. We separated, heeding decorum, but the grins on our faces, nevertheless stayed put.

Jamie, true to his word, did indeed talk to the appropriate people about the impending nuptials of Laoghaire and Kyle, and the banns were posted. The marriage was to be conducted this afternoon, three weeks to the day as he predicted.

I donned my best dress for the ceremony, but was put out by my husband's lack of finery. My Scotsman was in his daily attire, a plaid kilt, brown jerkin, and a linen shirt. "You're not going to the wedding dressed like that, are you?"

"I'll no be goin' Sassenach. I've more urgent matters to attend to, I have."

Appalled, I sarcastically uttered, "And pray, what might those matters be?"

"Weel, for one, Seamus MacLachland had a goat stolen right out from under his verra nose, and Eoghann Bryce seems to have been makin' some fine goat cheese. And for another, Ronan Broadie borrowed Fergus Reddick's wheelbarrow, and won't give it back to the man."

"So, you're telling me that a goat and a wheelbarrow are more important than Laoghaire's wedding?"

"Aye. 'Tis my duty as Laird to make a judgment in these matters."

I threw up my hands in exasperation. "Jamie Fraser—what will your kinsmen think, if their own Laird doesn't appear at the ceremony?"

"They'll think that I am a verra busy man."

"On the contrary, they'll think that you're an insensitive, self-absorbed introvert, with a narcissistic personality."

Jamie's face rumpled in confusion. "What's that? I canna understand what ye're tryin' to tell me, Claire."

After closing my gaping mouth, I stammered, "That you're a bloody arse. Never mind … I give up. I'll have Murtagh escort me to the church." Turning on my heel, I bolted out the door of our bedroom.