Chapter 5: Apprehension

Of course Claire should've known their destinies will not remain detached for long. Not even a week passed since her last visit to castle to make sure Mary knew how to handle the recuperating soldiers and put herself or the pregnancy to no risk, and yet Claire was woken to the faint impression someone was at their door at the palace. Wanting not to leave the bed herself knowing that Jamie was better equipped to deal with the Scottish cold, she sneaked a hand under the covers and rubbed it up her husband's chest, "did you hear something?" She murmured sleepily, suggesting he should move.

The Scot let out a soft, elongated grunt, half appreciating the touch, half being semi-aware that his own shrewd and apprehensive senses did indeed register a dull rattling, which given the hour, could not be of any good tidings. Mostly due to the word he now knew have been coming steadily provided by the unlikely source of his arch-enemy, Jamie did not expect any urgent call to arms from the Prince just yet, so the arriver was most likely to be asking for Claire's services. There were a couple more rattles before he slowly slid out of bed and opened the door.

There was a figure indeed at the other side, not for long, as it tilted forward while also folding at the legs and in the dim light of the corridor torches nearby, Jamie became aware that he was being unbalanced also by the weight that ended in his arms, the groaning form of Jack Randall's seemingly half conscious body, desperately trying to keep awake by clinging to Jamie's flimsy shirt with a fist and all his might, which given the circumstances, probably wasn't much. "Oh fer god's sakes in the name of the wee man yer havin me on!" Jamie complained, rolling his eyes and more dropping Jack onto the floor, than setting him down, "Claire! Get yerself her' da now!" He ordered his wife in the most commanding voice that has ever left his lips addressing her. No part of him wanted any more contact with that man than was absolutely necessary. "Wherefore does this nyaff need and appear all the time?" He shook his head, retreating, while Claire entered swaddled in blankets and with not much underneath as Jamie was well aware. While Randall's personal manner, grounds and justifications have been vastly different than before, the clan leader had some amount of suspicions of him staying near as a way of stalking the younger man.

"Jamie, get some water," Claire was taking the Englishman's pulse. It was hard to assess him otherwise in the near darkness reigning over the room bar for one candle's light by the table.

"Oh, gladly," Jamie declared and before Claire could get any hint of what he was doing, the Scot poured the entire contents of the washbowl over Jack's head, achieving the effect Claire wanted in a different way. The Englishman put a hand up to shield himself from possible more dousing and rose to an elbow shakily, his head still lolling from disorientation.

Claire grunted in some displeasure. While she could completely understand Jamie's actions, they weren't very helpful given that temperatures Randall came in from were under freezing and it wasn't all that much better inside either. Bedrooms in Holyrood Palace were way too large for a little fire in the evening to make much of an impact. And she still had to get the cause of his arrival out of him. "Captain." Though she slapped him to get his attention in a fairly non-medical manner, it was not too harsh and she kept her hand on his cheek to direct his gaze at her, "why did you come? It fairly looks like you shouldn't be out of bed just yet."

"Mary," he nodded minutely, stuck on the word and somewhat out of breath.

"She didn't end up with the flux, did she?" Claire was ready to blame herself. She was the one after all who deemed the young married woman safe to look after Jack mainly because she herself didn't want to be in more contact with them.

Jack shook his head, "if anybody can stop her from losing the child, it's you. There's a lot of blood and it's too early."

Claire swallowed and closed her eyes for a moment. Stop her. As if she could stop herself in similar circumstances. "I am not omnipotent, captain," she summarised her feelings on the matter. Still, it was immediately clear in her mind that she would go and try her might. "Jamie," she noticed him slinking towards the whisky stand. "I will get dressed and rush over. Randall would slow me down considerably. Which is why it's you who will need to bring him round once he has recovered from the exertion," she hurried behind the dressing wall.

Unhampered by inhibitions and refusing to take into consideration any allure she might have had for privacy, Jamie stalked after her outraged, whiskey forgotten, "you wad honestly leave me here with that charny bastart?"

Claire paused in piling skirts to fend from the weather to give her man a look, "he's hardly going to do any harm now is he."

"You ken fine well what I meant!" Jamie continued to complain, "what wad ye have me dae? Cosset 'im an' swaddle 'im in blankets afore I throttle 'im to deeth?"

"Jamie," she started in earnest, but avoided eye contact as she busied herself with a hat. "Regrettably there's hardly anything that can be done for either mother or child in this position in this century. Thankfully there was someone there for me who I owe my life," she reminded him, "I wouldn't feel it fair if I stopped at anything else."

Jamie presented a ho-hum face, internal debate still making him purse his lips, but he let her kiss him goodbye good-naturedly and walk out the door into the night. The Scot sighed to himself and rolling his eyes, he ambled out from behind the wall, only giving one glance over to the ill captain, who had managed to manoeuvre himself into a sitting position. While Jamie's tightly woven cotton shirt was long enough to cover any personal assets, the younger man would not feel comfortable with that criminal present till he was fully clothed and so busied himself with arranging his kilt and brocks into a wearable shape in the bedroom and out of sight. Well aware of the other's presence from heaves and grunts and the Englishman clearing his throat, Jamie was in no hurry and was folding the plaid neatly, at leisure and even after rolling himself in some more plaid as a way of a coat, he stood, disinclined, idly wondering if there was any point to delaying what needed to be done. Should he get on and over with it or was there some chance his long time arch-enemy would clear out on his own if left long enough.

Retching sounds dissipated his hopes and after some eyerolls Jamie finally reappeared to throw a cloth at the older man to clean himself up with or at least dry his still dripping, long hair. Which one should Jack do, he could not care less about, although he did prefer if he did not have to deal with that mess later. Raising his eyebrows, he settled on the divan to watch the display, somewhat nonplussed at the unlikely occurrence. Jack was no well, a blind could see that and Jamie was sure he would've felt some sort of sympathy towards anybody in that situation, anybody but the one in front of him, who's hands were shaking as he squeezed water out his hair, his balance as precarious while sitting that Jamie had to assume that sooner or later he would topple over into his own sick, a puddle not too ominous in size, but it was what it was nevertheless. At last, he had enough of the outlandishness of the state of affairs and stood swiftly and on a whim, grabbed his former captor under the armpits and without much ado, placed him over to the wall to be supported by it as he sat.

"I'd imagine this would be hard for you," Jack pointed out the obvious, the twisted part of him joyous at the finding. "Your wife is the most remarkable woman I've ever met and what I respect the most about her is that she is the only one who can make you do things you don't want to."

Jamie pulled back, but only to his haunches, to regard him suspiciously, "I see you've recovered your breath. Shall we then." He suggested, his head slightly inclined towards the exit to underline his meaning, "can you walk?"

"With your help, perhaps," he allowed, desire to do so and be in close proximities evident from the tone. "We wouldn't want to keep Mrs. Fraser solely on her own devices for very long."

"You leave Claire out of it!" Jamie retaliated, the only part of that suggestive and insulting sentence that was easy to respond to.

Jack sighed, "you don't have to worry. I'm not interested in women, never was."

"Which is why you near raped both my wife an' my sister!"

"I can assure you, neither of them were in any danger of being raped. Shown a little authority, that's another thing, but a woman," he shrugged, "that could never get me going, not even before your thoughtful surgery of my privates."

Jamie blinked at him, long and contemplative. Jenny did say Jack couldn't get it up and although Claire has come close to it twice, she had never actually been sexually molested to the full extent. "What was all that for then!"

"I had a reputation to keep in front of the armed forces and rumours of me swinging the wrong way to crush, ever think of that?" He leaned closer, consiprationally.

"You want to tell me that you let me defend my sister's honour without it ever being in danger?" Jamie scratched his head in aggravation.

Jack shrugged, "appearances and all that. But if I haven't done that, I would've never known the wonder that followed in you, now have I."

"Wonder." the Scot uttered the word with revulsion and some curiosity that could not be helped. Because calling his sufferings 'wonder', was not something that should occur to anyone sane. "I'll get a cart organised at the ready an' then I'll haul yer arse out of my sight," he promised, standing.

Tbc