Chapter 15: Farewell to Arms

Disclaimer: Diana Gabaldon owns all the rights to Outlander

Laoghaire looked beautiful, and Kyle, a handsome devil beside her. I envied her at that moment. She was willingly taking this man as her lifelong partner, and he was doing the same. I loved Jamie, but how much better our wedding would have been, had we not been forced into it by Dougal. Hindsight … bloody true what they say about it.

The happy couple rode off in a horse-drawn cart to an inn at Inverness for their honeymoon. Hopefully there wouldn't be any witnesses waiting around in the dining area to confirm that the marriage was official, not that there could be any doubt.

Murtagh and I returned to Leoch, with nary a word exchanged between us. I was feeling … what … nostalgic? I'd already forgiven Jamie for his unfeeling attitude, and even anxious for some reason to see him. As unromantic as our wedding was, our marriage turned out to be a binding of two souls that were a matched set. God help me, I loved that stubborn Scotsman to distraction.

The horses were stabled, and Auld Alec and Murtagh began feeding and grooming them. I hurried into the castle, intent on seeing my Jamie. He was sequestered in the council chambers discussing some documents with a couple of other men, so I retired to my surgery once again.

There was an unusual absence of mishaps at Leoch Castle for once, and so I had very little to do. Feeling rather restless, I sauntered into the kitchen, and by accident, watched in horror as one of the help sliced up a chicken, and then, picking up an errant piece of meat from the floor, went on to cut up some cooked carrots.

"You there!" I bellowed at the boy. "Don't you know that you could poison someone if you don't wash your hands in-between picking up trash and handling food?"

"What … poison? I dinna ken yer meanin', Mistress."

I stepped up closer to him. "I mean that if you work with raw meat, or retrieve an object from the dirty floor, germs get in the food and people can get dreadfully ill from it."

His eyes widened in wonderment. "Germs?"

"Yes, germs. They're tiny little animals that are so infinitely small you can't see them, and they live on everything, even your skin."

"But, Mistress, if ye canna see them, then how do ye ken as they're there?"

Determined to get my way, I countered, "Just take my word for it. Food poisoning is nothing to laugh about."

He nodded obediently. "Aye, milady. I'll wash my hands as ye suggested."

I smiled at the young man. "Good."

Mrs. Fitzgibbons was nearby, kneading bread dough, and witnessed the altercation. Walking up to her, I said, "You need to re-boil those carrots, or wash them well at the very least. I'll not let us all be poisoned at my table." She rolled her eyes, and went about her business.

The next day, several of us were afflicted with stomach pains and retching—ptomaine! While I sat, leaning over a chamber pot, I wondered if Fitzgibbons had deliberately ignored my warning.

I was absent from the surgery for the next day, as I couldn't stand on my feet for any lengthy periods of time. At any rate, Jamie advised me that there were no patients to be seen. They were too ill to get there, and Hawkins, bless his heart had taken responsibility for the major. My husband, along with the corporal, somehow escaped the dirge plaguing us unfortunates. They apparently bypassed that particular platter, not being great fans of the orange-colored root.

I complained to him, between bouts of gagging and retching. "I told Fitz to re-boil those carrots, and I don't think she followed my orders. You need to talk to her about it."

"Ah, I see. Ye gave her orders, ay? And ye wonder why she didna follow them?" He clicked his tongue and continued. "Fitz has been the matron of this castle for nigh on one and thirty years, and now ye come to the castle as the wife o' the new Laird. Seein' as she's been here a wee bit longer, d'ye suppose she'd feel kindly to takin' yer orders?"

"Oh, hell. I guess I did come on a bit strongly. But how can I get her to understand the importance of keeping things sanitary?"

"Ah … ye mean clean."

"Yes. It's a miracle we all haven't succumbed to some sort of stomach ailments sooner."

He pivoted on his heel, ready to walk through the door. "All right then. I'll speak to the woman."

When the major and I were able to ambulate under our own power, Jamie had all the prisoners, officers included, in the judgment hall the following morning.

They stood in front of the dais anticipating the verdict. Jamie whispered something to Ned, who was his undisputed counselor, then spoke. "My decision is made: I'll send ye back to Fort William under heavy guard. Major Brighton and Corporal Hawkins will be in charge of the lot o' ye. 'Tis op to the commander there to see to yer fate, as ye're under the authority o' the British crown.

"Major Brighton, does that sit weel wi' ye?"

"Yes, that seems appropriate, and I give you my word that when we reach the fort, your men will be permitted to return safely to Leoch."

The prisoners were led out to waiting wagons, and highlanders with pistols at the ready, were mounted on either sides of them. Corporal Hawkins and his commander each took my hand and kissed it.

"It was my pleasure to meet you, dear lady. I am forever in your debt for your hospitality and care. Thank you."

"The pleasure was all mine, Major Brighton." I then glanced at Hawkins. "I shall miss you, Corporal. How ever am I to manage without your help?"

He grinned, and looking at the major said, "Perhaps I will desert the army and come here as your servant, ma'am."

Tilting my head to look up at him, I quipped, "We shall surely hang together, if that came to pass."

Major Brighton laughed. "We must be off. Come along, Hawkins. Duty awaits us."

They bowed ceremoniously, alighted upon their steeds, and began the trek to Fort William. I waved to them until they faded from view.

"Oof!" Jamie's head hit the pillow. "What do ye think, Sassenach? Did I do the right thing?"

"Yes, I believe so. That was very diplomatic of you. And, well … now that the Sassenach problem is solved, would you like me to see to your problem?"

"Aye, that would be verra diplomatic o' ye."

I giggled, and pounced on him forthwith. In a few short minutes, his problem was solved as well.

Normalcy ruled my kingdom once more, and I was busy managing bouts of indigestion, respiratory troubles, catarrh, and of all things, toothaches—one of which at this minute was staring me in the face. I rummaged through the cupboard for my tin of whole cloves, only to find a single, measly, broken stem.

I left my patient to obtain some from the kitchen. Lo and behold, as I traversed the entrance, I spotted that same boy up to his old tricks again. This time, I went straight to Mrs. Fitzgibbons, and trying to be a bit more subtle, I began, "Latha math, Fitz. My supply of whole cloves seems to have run out. Would you happen to have any available."

The big woman smiled at me. "Picking up a wee bit of the Gaelic, I see."

With a spoon in her hand, she gestured to a row of cupboards behind her, lining the upper wall. "But, to be sure—they're op in the cabinet, milady, where they always are … amongst the other spices and such."

I reached up, and took down the large container. "Thanks …Um … I noticed that boy is handling both meat and vegetables again. He's using the same soiled cutting board for both, and he's not washing his hands either."

"Aye. He's a verra forgetful lad, he is."

"Far be it for me to say, but maybe he should be assigned another job—the stables, for instance?"

"Oh nay, Mistress, he's scairt o' the horses, ye ken." What? Since when is a Scotsman afraid of horses?

"What about working in the fields?"

"Osgar doesn't like to be out in the cold or wet. He's content to be workin' in the kitchen where 'tis cozy and warm."

Not about to surrender, I followed with, "There's got to be something else the boy can do, despite his young age. The scullery, perhaps?"

Fitzgibbons stopped stirring whatever it was she had in her pot, and dug in her heels. "Weel, I'll no trouble him 'bout it. He's my brother's grandson, and I promised to look after the lad, I did. I'll no slough off the task to any o' the other servants. So here he shall stay, if ye dinna mind."

She gave me a half-hearted smile to smooth things over I imagined, but dammit—I did mind, and very much so.

I muttered all the way to the surgery, placed a few cloves in a paper packet, and instructed the man with the ailing tooth, what to do with them. When he left, I stomped off to see Jamie. This matter had to be resolved immediately, or my name wasn't Claire Fraser!

Jamie was in the study, his head bent over a table, going over some papers with Ned. Storming into the room, the papers fluttered in my wake. Gowan looked up cautiously, his eyebrows raised in shock. Heaven forbid that a woman should encroach upon the critically urgent goings-on of the menfolk. Bowing to me out of courtesy, he declared, "I'll take my leave o' ye, sir. It appears ye have some pressing business to sort out."

As soon as the man left the study, I pointed at Jamie, and ranted, "What did you say to that woman? She's totally blind to anything the boy does. I realize he's her grandson, but Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, he's going to kill us all. I'm not having it, Jamie. That boy has to go."

"Och … I canna tell her to dismiss the boy. It will only start a blood feud."

"Well, if you won't do it, then what about Murtagh?"

He moved his legs further apart, widening the breadth between them in a belligerent stance. "And shove the poor man betwixt me and his Auntie. Nay, I willna allow it."

"So, we all have to worry about our stomachs until he leaves or she dies. Is that it?"

"Dinna fash, Sassenach. I will speak to her. Perchance Osgar can be persuaded to find employment elsewhere?"

"I already went that route. She was determined to keep him in the kitchen."

"Stars and stones, what am I to do then?"

"I'm not the goddamned Laird. You are, and you'd better think of something, and quickly—Scotty."

"Claire Fraser … Aye, I am the Laird, and I'll thank ye no to speak to me in that tone o' voice while there are subjects about."

I was just as aggravated as he was, and fairly shook with emotion. "You knew I had a temper when you married me, so don't go chastising me now because of it."

Clearly in a foul mood, he threw down the sheaf of paper he was holding. It immediately careened off the table's edge, dropping like a flurry of snowflakes. Ignoring the heap on the floor, he spouted, "Ye can curse me all ye want when we're together in our own room, but no here. Do ye ken my meanin'?"

"Oh, I ken it all right … the little woman should keep her mouth shut." I breathed out loudly in my frustration. Bloody Scotsman.

"Just forget it. I'm leaving."

While in flight up to our bedroom, I thought of a diabolical scheme to get Osgar out of the kitchen, or at least to re-think his modus operandi. If I put some syrup of ipecac in his drink, and then told him the vomiting it induced resulted from his negligence in handling food? Hmn …

I grabbed my coat from the peg near our bed, stopped by the surgery, filled a basket with some herbs and decided to visit a few of the expectant women in the shire. That should calm me somewhat.