Breakfast at the stables soon became a regular outing for Claire and I, even extending into lunch on days that I felt capable of more than one trip up the stairs. Dinners were usually a quite affair, held in the physicians ward that was beginning to become my new home, on occasion were were joined by a cheerful Mrs. Fitz-Gibbons, or if we were lucky, Jamie. Or should I say, if Claire was lucky.
It was common knowledge to the castle that she was a widow, married before her husband "passed away"; but what wasn't common knowledge was that her heart was beginning to love another. I saw it, Mrs. Fitz-Gibbons saw it, and as I had seen in their gossiping huddles, some of the other ladies at the castle had noticed as well. And yet, Claire and Jamie were perfectly and beautifully ignorant of their predicament, both of them never picking up on the little affectionate signs given by the other. They were like two deer, easily frightened and quick to run away if confronted. But if you were quiet enough, and looked closely, you could see when they began to forget that they were not alone, becoming swept up in the others eyes and mannerisms, and as if by magic or some twist in the Earth's gravity, the world began to only turn around them.
I had been lucky enough to witness some of these moments, always taking care to stay quiet and not break the spell. It was like witnessing something out of a book; as if Shakespeare himself was sitting before me, creating a love story equal to that of Romeo and Juliet, that would go down in history. The way their eyes met over a basket of food, how her hands gently caressed his shoulder as she examined a previously dislocated joint, how he looked down at her when they stood up to leave; their mundane actions spoke of such passion and longing, of such unguarded tenderness and need. Sometimes it was just too private, to deep, and I would turn away, busying myself with aimless actions and knowing that the unspoken words that they exchanged were meant only for the two of them.
It was a beautiful thing to witness, the growing and nurturing of that little sprout of love, one that I believed would soon blossom into a permanent being if it continued on; but sometimes it was a bittersweet sight, making me long for an experience of the same. Being a great reader of books, choosing to live on the inside of pages rather in the outside world, I had read about loves like theirs. Loves that spanned location and time, that burnt quickly in a torrent of fire or slowly consumed the soul in a steady smolder. I had always wished for a love like that, waiting for that perfect somebody to awaken that creature inside of me. I believe that all humans are naturally social beings, but are deeply independent; at least until that special somebody turns the key, flips the switch and changes you. A change that runs deeper than blood, in the ideas of living, waking you up to see that no matter how independent you may be, you'll never be alone again. Its a special kind of union, love, one that makes solitary living impossible and yet takes none of your freedom away.
This was what Jamie and Claire had, because even if they were on other sides of the castle, he in his stables and she in her ward. One look could tell you that they weren't alone, for both were thinking of the other, and the thoughts were never far from their mind, gracing their faces with hidden smiles when ever they appeared.
With this knowledge under my belt, I was determined to see their union, to see their love professed before I had to return to my own time. If anything, I wanted to be able to go back to the 21st century, do some heavy research and see their family tree, to be able to point to it and say, "that was a beautiful love story, one that I was lucky to have witnessed.". I wanted to be able to take some of that magic home with me.
Two weeks after my arrival at Castle Leoch, I was almost fully recovered. With the help of Claire's constant care and salve administrations, my back had the look of baby skin, freshly pink and brand new along the lines of would become sizable scars.
On the night of my fifteenth day in the year 1743, Claire declared me fit to attend the clan gathering that had begun the night before. That morning the last of the Clan Mackenzie had made their way to the castle doors, setting up camp in the surrounding woods and fields. Tonight would be a type of swearing in, as Claire described it, a ceremony at dinner in which all Clan Mackenzie members swear fealty to their laird, a man by the name of Colum Mackenzie, who was apparently the owner of Castle Leoch itself.
Seeing as it was my first "night out" and that apparently Claire had been using me as an excuse to skip the other dinners, Mrs. Fitz-Gibbons was determined to make us both presentable for the festivities. Beginning straight after lunch, the plump old woman had serving maids bring down two large tubs made out of wood, almost resembling decapitated wine barrels. After a few buckets of water were warmed by the fire and poured into the two containers, Claire and I were stripped in a flurry of hands and settled into the steaming baths, to be scrubbed and lathered, hair pulled and scalps massaged in what felt like an eighteenth century spa day. At one point through the proceedings when a particularly enthusiastic serving maid pulled a large chuck of my hair, I opened my eyes and grimaced towards Claire, only to be met by an equally pained expression that made me shake with restrained laughter.
After being "wooled" dry, rubbed with scented oils and having my hair brushed out, Claire and I were left to dress ourselves, newly tailored gowns laid over the back of two chairs waiting for us. Once the last serving made left, we both let out an exasperated breath,
"She's like a tornado!" I said with a huff, as I shook out my brand new, emerald green dress.
"Yes, well when you run a castle full of Scotsmen, I expect you have to be." she said with a laugh as she slid into her deep blue velvet gown. I turned back to mine and looked down in dismay, a corset was not something I was looking forward to. With a little laugh, Claire took the garment laces from behind and began lacing me up, taking care not to go too tight in fear that it would chaff my back. Once that was completed she help my slide the cool velvet and wool over my head, and then she laced up the back of that. Leaving me to look down at my self in awe. I felt like a princess, a Scots princess that is. The green of the dress brought out the pink tones in my skin beautifully, framing my body to accentuate the little curves that I had naturally and the fake ones given to me by the voluminous skirt. My feet poked out of the bottom of the dress, and with help from Claire, I slid my feet into brand new leather slippers, stiff, but luckily the right size.
With a little twirl, I turned to Claire. She looked gorgeous in her blue dress, which made her skin look like flawless alabaster. Her hair was pinned up in a coiled mess of curls, which sprang out of their confinement in some places; giving her an air of perfectly casual elegance. Without me having to voice my inquiry, she reached behind herself and grabbed a wooden comb and a strip of black ribbon, sat me down on the chair and began to go to work. Within a few minutes filled with painful hair tugging and watering eyes, she had braided my hair into an intricate rope that fell right below my shoulder blades and ended in a bow of black silk. With a final look at both of our outfits, she declared us fit for celebratory activates and we were off, traversing the stairs in minutes without my mangled back to slow us down. Hurrying through the corridors, past the kitchens filled to the brim with servants on high alert, and up the stairs towards the great hall. Passing Scotsmen and women of all types, sizes, and levels of intoxication. And finally, panting and out of breath, we squeezed into the back doorway of the hall, coming in next to the high table, which sat the Laird, Colum Mackenzie, his brother Dougal, wife Leticia, and son Hamish. All of this was whispered to me by a breathless Claire as we made our way down the side of the hall to find an open bench, halfway to the back. Squeezing past a particularly round, older man, and his large arsed wife, we were finally seated, facing the high table, and waiting for the ceremony to begin.
All the while Claire could not keep her eyes on one place for long, searching, whether she knew it or not, for the spark that would eventually catch her ablaze.