Chapter 17: A Secret Is Revealed

Disclaimer: Diana Gabaldon owns all the rights to Outlander

I waited a few days—coward that I was—not wanting to ruin the renewed closeness that prevailed between Jamie and me. There was no way of ascertaining how he would respond to my revelation. While it was true that many of the people here were highly superstitious, unfortunately for me, my Scotty was not one of them.

As I bided my time, an occurrence with Swoop hastened the arrival of the impending conversation.

Jamie had gone out to the mew to see his bird of prey, only to find it empty. The escape route was obvious. The raptor had pecked away at the thatched roof and flown the coop, as it were. I saw the look on Jamie's face as he and Osgar went about searching the grounds for the feathered fiend, and I never cared to repeat that experience, so later on after dinner, I spoke to him.

He sat at the end of the bed, removing his jerkin when I placed my hand on his shoulder. "Jamie … I …"

"Dinna be worrit about me, Sassenach. I'll no be grievin' o'er that damnable bird. It wasna right to coop op a wild thing like him. He's back where he belongs, amongst the other feathered creatures, so he is."

"No … I …"

Jamie covered my hand with his own, and swung me around to face him. "Ah, so that wasna what ye were 'bout to say?"

Patting a spot beside him, he remarked, "Set yerself down, Claire. I can see this is somethin' preyin' on ye, as needs to be discussed."

Seating myself, I collected my thoughts, but not fast enough to suit the Scotsman, leaning his head toward me. "What is it? Speak out, woman. I'll no chastise ye for tellin' me anathin' that's the truth."

"And that's the trouble. I don't know if you'll be able to understand what I'm about to tell you, let alone believe any of it. Yet, I swear to you, Jamie; it is the truth."

"Weel, out wi' it then."

I grabbed his hand, squeezing it, and stared into those deep blue eyes, intense with curiosity. "I never told you where I was headed the day I ran away from young Willy."

He shook his head. "Ye dinna owe me an explanation. I love ye the same if ye tell me or no."

With my hand outstretched to silence him, I said. "Please, Jamie. Let me get this out. Seeing the expression on your face when you found me the other day, made me realize how unsure you were of my staying with you. I need to put an end to that line of thinking."

Sighing, I continued. "I was on my way to Craigh na Dun."

His brow furrowed. "What possessed ye to go there?"

"I was going back to my husband, Frank."

The light in his eyes dimmed. "But … ye told me once … Are ye sayin' as he's yet alive, then?"

"No … I'm saying that he's not yet born. So, I guess in a sense, he's not alive."

Jamie shot to his feet. "What?"

"That day when Murtagh found me captured by Captain Randall, I was wearing a dress that you men supposed was a shift. In truth, it was clothing that is appropriate in the year … 1945.

"I came through the stones, Jamie. I don't know how, but this time is not my time. That's the reason why I know things that seem foreign to you; why some of my phrases make no sense to the clan.

"Frank was probably going insane wondering where I had gone. I had to get back to him, don't you see?"

Jamie began to pace, his boots clicking on the stone floor. Not making a sound, he was most probably processing all I'd just told him.

My hands were fisted in my lap, and I stared down at them. "You don't believe it."

He quickly knelt on the floor in front of me, and pulled my hands into his. "Whether I believe it or no, ye're here. Maybe ye didna come through the stones, but as the faeries sent ye. Either way, I'm grateful for the time ye spent wi' me. But yer tale, it does explain some thin's."

His shoulders slumped, and his head hung in sorrow. "So … I lashed yer bare arse for tryin' to return to yer rightful husband."

I gently smoothed his curly hair. "You didn't know."

"I do now. I suppose I should take ye there myself and return ye to him, if that's what ye will."

"Jamie … no. At the time, I wished to be with him, but his memory has faded. I don't want to go back; I'm yours now. Forever. My love for you is so powerful, all encompassing; it's nothing like what I felt for Frank. I sometimes question when I'm lying with you, if I ever really loved him at all.

"I won't ever leave you—I can't. You mean too much to me. You never have to worry about that again."

"Truly?"

Overcome with emotion, I was unable to speak, and so I nodded; my lips trembling.

Jamie got off the floor, and drew me up with him at the same time. Smiling, he announced, "Then, I suppose I'll stay wi' ye as weel, 'til our days be doon."

That crooked smile turned my insides to a bowl of aspic. He sealed his declaration with a kiss, and we prepared again to be united as one.

That unbelievable conversation had gone exceptionally well. At least it appeared that way. Maybe Jamie just thought I was insane and was doing his best to humor me. At any rate, he seemed happy, and I was too … remarkably so.

My work in the surgery continued, keeping me engaged, non-stop. Thankfully, it was valued by the populace and enjoyable to me. Then one day, I treated a young girl. She had been slicing up some beets apparently, and the knife slipped, cutting a gash in her thumb.

We talked as I bandaged the injured digit. "How old are you, Annis?"

"Thirteen, come this summer, Mistress."

"And you're working in the kitchen?"

She shrugged. "Aye. I like the cookin' and such."

Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ! Another young sprout to spread her germs. I certainly will have to keep an eye on her.

Sure enough, the following week, I was leaning over a chamber pot, cursing that little girl. Was it too much to ask people to please wash their damned hands?

Thankfully, the nausea abated by mid-afternoon, but the next day was a déjà vu of the previous. Then for several mornings I was still heaving. What was going on?

Mrs. Fitz finally came into the surgery to see me. "I'm verra worrit 'bout ye, Mistress. Ye've no been coming to breakfast for goin' on a week now."

"I know. It's the oddest thing. I'm just so nauseated every morning. I'm better by noon though."

She nodded, like she knew something that I didn't. "Ah, weel, ye should be right as rain in a few more weeks, then."

"What do you mean, Fitz?"

"Why 'tis plain as the nose on yer face. Ye're wi' child, lass. Ye bein' a Beaton and all, I'm surprised ye didna figure that out yerself."

"But … that … that's inconceivable." The pun was unintended. "I was married for eight years and never once got pregnant."

"Tell that to yer Jamie. I think he'll be verra pleased wi' ye." I heard her mutter as her skirts rustled up the stairs, "Pleased wi' himself, more like."

I collapsed onto a chair. Pregnant? How could I possibly be pregnant? I'd been barren for nine years for god's sake.

I rushed right out to Jamie's study, and for once he was alone. He glanced up from his desk, when I stepped through the entrance. I'm sure my expression conveyed my shock.

"Do you have a minute?"

The leaflet in his hand was refolded, and placed on the stack of papers he was studying. "Aye, what's happened? Ye look like ye've seen a ghost."

I closed the door shut. "You'd better sit down. I have something to tell you."

He slumped against the wall, crestfallen, expecting the worst, I imagined. "You mean there's more?"

"No, Jamie. This has nothing to do with how I arrived here. This has to do with us—you and me."

"How so?"

"I mean to say … goddammit, I think I may be carrying your child."

"A child, ye say. My child?"

"Yes, your child. Whose child do you think it would be? I don't know how it happened—but there it is."

A smirk appeared on his lips. "Ye dinna ken how it happened, ay?"

Wagging a finger at him, I said, "You know very well what I mean. Nine years Jamie—nine years, and now after only a few months being married with you, and I'm pregnant. I don't understand."

Jamie walked very slowly toward me, and threading his fingers through the hair on either sides of my head, simply remarked, "Maybe it wasna yer fault. 'Twas yer husband as was barren. At any rate, proud I am to be the father o' our wee bairn."

With one arm around me, he opened the door and stepping into the opening, shouted, "Ye hear that Leoch! I got my woman wi' child. I'm to be a father. They'll be celebratin' this verra night."

My eyes rolled involuntarily, as I looked up at the towering mass of testosterone. "I take it, you're happy with the news."

"Happy? Why, I'm giddy as Murtagh with a new foal." With that he lifted me in the air, grinning like an idiot, and repeating, "Aye—we're to have a child, we're to have a child."

Cheers filled the hall that evening when we strolled arm in arm to take our seats at the table. Then, many a toast was made in our honor. My cheeks were flushed, but Jamie … my word, his grin took up the whole of his face, and his chest was so puffed up, I thought his buttons would pop off his jacket and land in his food.

The revelry finally abated after a few days, and things went back to normal.

I was walking down the corridor toward the kitchen, when I met Jamie coming from the opposite direction. One of his arms immediately wound about my waist. "Come along. Ride wi' me, Sassenach," he said.

I found myself in the stable looking at Brimstone and Trom Laighe, already prepared and waiting for us. Jamie helped me into the saddle, then swung a leg up and over his animal, and we were off at a trot.

He led us to a lookout point, and laid a blanket on the ground. Jamie lifted me from Brimstone and set me on the woolen fabric, seating himself at my side.

"Something on your mind?"

"Aye. Dinna suppose as I'm no pleased as ye're expectin' and all, but I keep thinkin' on what ye told me the other day … about Frank, I mean. Ye dinna havta answer me, if ye dinna care to, but … I was wonderin' what yer husband was like. Was he a warrior like me?"

The laughter fairly spewed from my mouth. "Hardly," I replied, when I finally stopped laughing.

"I didna say somethin' funny, did I?"

"No, it's just that you and Frank are as unlike as night and day. He was a historian, heavily into books and genealogy records. If he were to pick up a sword, it would be to establish where it came from and from which era of history it sprang. You'd probably find him a bloody bore, and I have to admit, when we came to Scotland to search out his ancestry, I was bored—bored to tears."

Touching his cheek, I smiled, and said, "However … I'm never bored when I'm with you."

"Good."

It suddenly dawned on me … I blurted, "I don't believe it. You're jealous of him, aren't you?"

His lips tightened and he exhaled loudly. "If ye must hear me tell it … then aye, I am."

I started laughing again. "Jamie Fraser. There's nothing to be jealous of. Frank pales in comparison. I'm here, with you; your unborn child in my womb. You have my love, my body, heart and soul. What more could you ask of me?"

His eyes narrowed, and he looked stricken. "But … do ye still have feelin's for the man?"

"I don't know. I hardly ever think of him any more. I suppose that's a bit fickle, and even cruel of me. You're just bigger than life. You seem to crowd out all thoughts of my past. I see my future with you, and only you."

"Ah."

Clicking my tongue, I said, "You are a clot-head. And I just happen to have an antidote for it." I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his, startling him.

When he regained his composure, he wouldn't release me for several seconds. With fingers cupping the back of my head, he whispered, "Lucky, I am to have such a healer o' my heart. I thank ye, Claire, for lovin' me, for stayin' wi' me, and for carryin' my child in yer body. I'm grateful to the Lord above for makin' ye my wife, and the stones at Craigh na Dun for guidin' ye to my side. And that's the truth o' it."