Je Suis Prest – Margaret, Frank and John
Frank parked the car in the visitors area and walked toward the hospital. He straightened his jacket, giving it a quick brush across the shoulders with his hand, adjusted his tie and placed his hat on his head. He wore his fedora not straight but rather cocked to one side like one of the blokes he knew at University did. Frank felt his walk become a bit of a swagger as he did and he rather liked that feeling of cocky rather than distinguished that enveloped him. He only seemed to do it when he came to see Claire at the hospital. The single nurses seemed to find cocky Frank appealing and better yet, possible marriage material. In the beginning he had thought that his mild flirting might, in turn, convince Claire to take a more active interest in him as a suitor. And Claire had asked him to be her escort to last years Hospital Christmas Party, which he was all too happy to oblige.
He certainly realized that was becoming less likely since the appearance of the rather large, red-headed Highlander that Claire was now, rather impulsively, hand-fasted to. Hand-fasted he reminded himself, not married. Nothing was set in stone. As of yet, no church wedding nor priest presiding over anything. He was fairly sure they'd done it in order to placate the godfather when it had become apparent to all that the two of them were having sexual intercourse. Claire wouldn't really marry the Scot, Frank told himself; he still had a chance of winning her affections if he could just keep the two of them separated. He'd marry her even if she were pregnant with Fraser's child.
And there was that... Yes, Lambert had run up the hill and declared it. And Fraser had seemed quite surprised by the news. Claire would certainly have told Jamie of the child before he'd left, especially with the possibly of his never returning. But perhaps it was only a ruse to keep Fraser from traveling back to the 1700's. Fraser had endeavored to still leave even after Lambert's proclamation. The possibility of Claire being pregnant had not thwarted Fraser from putting his hand on the stone in an attempt to leave. Albeit, only after it was decided that the Godfather was to stay behind, to look after Claire and the child. That odd Master Raymond had shown up and confirmed Lambert's announcement, though since then, Claire had not even hinted that she might be in the family way. No, woman were thrilled when they found themselves with child. They practically glowed with joy and could not wait to tell their family and friends; they practically spoke of nothing else for the rest of their lives. Nonsense. Plain and simple poppy-cock. Claire was not pregnant, of that he was sure. He just needed keep them apart, or at the very least, chaperon the two of them. He in no way trusted Fraser's Godfather to do a proper job of it. Claire was safely sequestered in Inverness and Fraser was living at Lallybroch, an hour's drive by car. No way for Fraser to get to Claire and Claire was back dutifully reporting to work every day. He had made sure of that before he'd left for Edinburgh.
He smugly smiled to himself as he approached the elevator and waited. He did not have long to wait. The doors slid open and the lift attendant stepped out, her arm holding the lift door open, to admit those waiting to step in even before he had a chance to count to ten. He allowed the women to enter ahead of him then followed suit. "3rd floor please" he said as he passed the attendant and stepped to the rear, making room for others to enter, removing his hat as he turned to face the door. The elevator stopped at the 2nd floor and two fairly attractive nurses stepped in, though neither could hold a candle to Claire. The brunette smiled at him. A very wicked, flirty sort of smile. He smiled back and tipped his head slightly to her in a gesture of acknowledgment. Her smile grew and a slight blush appeared on her cheeks in return to his gentlemanly overture. His signature move never failed on working women though career gals, like Claire, never fell for it. Single nurses were always on the prowl for a husband that would provide for them and allow them the luxury of no longer having to earn a paycheck. Caring for a husband, home and family would be considered the brass ring for them. They more than likely chose to work in a hospital in the hopes of landing a wealthy doctor for a husband he supposed. Why else would anyone choose to be a nurse of all things. Teachers or Librarians as a woman's choice of profession, he understood. Quiet, clean, work environments. Safe. Both offered goals of helping to educate children, mold their young minds. A straight 9 to 5 job with a scheduled full hour for lunch. Countless conversations with Claire had never helped him grasp why anyone would want to run around waiting on those sick or injured miserable people all day. Claire almost never took a full lunch, hardly ever off work on time... always some emergency or another. No paycheck would be worth it in his opinion.
Reaching the third floor, the silver doors of the Otis Elevator opened. The attendant stepped out and held the door, once again, for him to exit. "Excuse me, please" Frank said as he pressed passed the two nurses that blocked his way. Both gave him a not so subtle look over then turned to each other smiling wistfully as he exited. Once through the door, he turned back and smiled, dipping his head as a courtesy, nodding slightly to the brunette then walked away before the doors closed. A little harmless flirting never hurt anyone he told himself. He had to keep his options open, after all. He turned left. 3rd floor, west wing. Patient Recovery, long term. He approached the Nurses Station where Claire was posted and right into the presence of a woman he had not see for many years; not since before the war. Frank found himself staring into the face of the queen of career women, a sight he could have happily lived the rest of his entire life without seeing.
He cleared his throat and said "It's good to see you again Margaret. It's been awhile."
Margaret Sanger looked up and forced a smiled to her lips. Be cordial, for Claire's sake she told herself. "Frank Randall. As I live and breath. How are you?"
"Fine. Fine. And you? Claire told me of your husband's passing. James was a good man. I am sorry for your loss."
"Thank you Frank. I'm fine." she said with a sigh. Leave it to Frank to bring up her husband's death as a conversation opener. "It's been several years now. Has it been that long since I've seen you?" She inquired with absolutely no hint of care in her tone. It had not been long enough. It could never be long enough, she thought. She could happily live the rest of her life never seeing the smug, opinionated historian again.
Nurse Sanger was not like any of the nurses Frank knew from the military. He truly did not much care for her and was almost glad when Claire had been assigned to a unit in France during the war, away from the influence of this woman. Sanger had gone into the nursing field for a totally different reason than most. Not to heal or help, but to education. Educate women, more specifically. In a specialized field he did not approve of – "Birth Control". That was what Sanger was all about, how many "unwanted babies could she help prevent". Unwanted Babies, like there could ever be such a thing. That was a woman's job, what they were born to be - mothers... taking care of the home – their husband and raising the children. It was fine if they worked until they married, but a woman with a career was just an unmarried spinster, nothing more. They had heated conversations over drinks about it; arguing late into the night when they infrequently ran into each other at parties. Animated discussions on the pros and cons, the validity of the right to choose, giving women the "freedom" of choice. He was sorry to see Claire had found her way back into the sphere of the "sex education activist". Hopefully Claire was not involved in preaching Sanger's gospel. He would have to speak to her about it.
"What have you been up to? Open any more of those Planned Parenthood Clinics you have such hopes for?" He asked simply to irritate, needle her. Knowing full well she probably had but hoped she hadn't. Her cause was popular and gaining followers. He shook his head in disgust. Progressive woman. Next thing you know they would be wearing pants in public.
"Oh you know me, never give up is my motto. I count my blessings that I have friends like Claire to share the dream with" and she winked at him just to get under his skin. They played this snarky game with each other every time they met and she did not feel one smidgen bad about it. Frank was the epitome of a sexist and would surely let Claire know that he had seen her. He wouldn't be nice about it either, probably give her an earful. "She makes my job easy, keeps me focused on the end goal. Every woman has the right to birth control and to choice Frank. Better get used to the idea." Margaret smiled as she needled the man back and gave Randall the once over. He was such a stuffed shirt. It made her shutter at what came out of the man's mouth. It was the same venom that more than 80% of the male population believed – Woman Should Be Barefoot and Pregnant. He, like most men, wanted his women pretty and smart but they needed to understand that the man was in charge – of everything. The husband had the bank account, home and car solely in their name and took care of All the finances and purchases. A married, working woman was not even handed her own paycheck; it was given straight to their husband. Most women probably never saw a penny of it. Such supression. Neanderthals.
Frank acted like he had a pole up his ass too. So typically military. Always impeccably dressed, not snappy or stylish but good quality, always neat as a pin, even his shoes were shined. Never a hair out of place. She always thought she had to defend her beliefs when she talked to Frank, like he had an ax to grind with her. Perhaps he was just putting on a show, for Claire, trying to prove how smart he was to her, how informed and all knowing. If he wasn't trying to get under her skin about "her cause" as he put it, then all he ever wanted to talk about was his work, his research, never listening to anything Claire had to say or had an interest in. Heaven forbid. And did the man do anything for fun? Did he not have any hobbies? Take vacations? Though what irked her most was that he never smiled, never laughed. Sanger tried to remember if she had ever seen him do either, but not even at the Hospital Christmas Party. Always so serious. She almost groaned out loud. She wondered if Claire would bring him this year. She hoped not. Honestly, she never felt like the two had anything in common. He was so stifling. Although it was obvious Frank was in love with Claire, she was certain that Claire did not return the feelings, never had. Thank God. Claire was much too good for him. She was certain Claire was meant for greater things than to be Mrs. Frank Randall... hopefully do great things in the field of patient care. Claire would be an amazing role model for any young woman fortunate enough to meet her.
Margaret Sanger had met the Scot Claire had, head over heels, fallen for. That was one tall drink of water and in possession of a smile that lit up a room. He had left Claire after that initial long weekend they'd spent together and Claire had shown up back at work a day early, heartbroken. Claire told her that he returned that very night, met up with her after she'd had gotten off of work and they had worked everything out. He was staying and she was euphoric, glowing, almost giddy. Claire had brought the man, and his godfather, in with her the very next day to meet one of the floor patients, John Murray. It was clear as day that Jamie and Claire only had eyes for each other. Good. Sanger had liked the godfather too. The two men were quite a pair, stayed most of the day visiting with the elderly man and Mr. Murray seemed quite taken with them as well. She thought that's where Claire's men were living now... on John Murray's farm, taking care of it while Mr. Murray was in the hospital. She had a cup of tea with Claire and the two Fraser men while they ate lunch in the cafeteria and thought Jamie and Claire were good together, had chemistry, complimented and balanced each other. Both men were easy, kind and had gentle spirits though she did not really understand the whole kilt thing. They were also quite progressive thinkers, allowing Claire to voice her ideas while they talked. Both men listened when she spoke, treated her like she had a brain and that her opinions mattered. The world would be much better off with more men like them, she thought.
"What? I'm sorry Frank," Margaret stated, shaking the thought from her head. "My mind was elsewhere. Would you mind repeating what you were saying?"
"I asked if you knew where I could find Claire? We are going out of town tomorrow... together, and I need to have a word with her." Frank repeated with mild irritation. That woman was hateful, he decided. Sanger had purposely ignored him. Just totally disregarded him. He needed to find Claire and get out of here. Maybe he could take her to lunch, especially since Fraser wasn't around. He smiled at the thought.
"Claire isn't here." Margaret said as a shutter ran through her body. Was that Frank's smile, she thought with horror? The sight of the man's face sent a shiver down her spine. "Claire said she was to catch the bus last night after work. That fella of hers was picking her up at the bus station in Broch Mordha. Are you sure you have your information correct, Frank?" She asked hoping she was adding a little additional salt to his wound, a wound better known as James Fraser. She smiled at Frank's facial reaction.
Frank's face contorted as he ran his fingers through his hair. He had thought she was leaving tomorrow, not last night and that they would make the trip together in his car. No quiet lunch or dinner, just the two of them either. Bloody hell. "Did she happen to leave you a phone number where I could reach her?" He asked.
"No. I didn't ask for one. There would be no need." Margaret replied. "Though John Murray might be willing to give you the farm's phone number, if you asked him for it." She offered, hoping he would leave her in peace. She thought about silently wishing Frank would just get lost on the way, and never arrive at the farm. Giving Claire a weekend, alone, with her fella. She'd have to be sure to talk to Claire about what birth control method she was using.
"Mr. Murray is in room 311. Down the hall and on the left. He should be awake and waiting for the doctor, he might even still be eating breakfast" and she pointed off to the right, indicating the direction Frank needed to travel. "Nice to see you Frank. Tell Claire we will see her Monday morning" and she turned her attention to the nurse waiting patiently to speak to her.
Frank walked down the pristine white hallway that the Sanger woman had directed him to. 305... 307... 309... finally 311. As he approached, a gentleman exited the room. He was impeccably dressed in a well tailored, black, 3 piece suit, clean, starched white shirt and black tie. The gentleman checked his pocket watch when he stopped in the hall while he waited for the middle-aged woman who entered the hall moments after him. It was a stunning timepiece; gold and intricately etched. Frank had never seen one of that quality, besides his own, and he patted his vest's watchpocket knowingly. His grandfather had presented it to him on his graduation from Cambridge and his own initials were ornately carved into the cover. The woman, now walking behind the gentleman was carrying a man's briefcase as well as a steno pad, purse, hat and gloves. They walked briskly past Frank, and both men exchanged nods as they passed.
The door to 311 was left open. Frank stopped in the doorway and glanced around the room. There, sitting up in the bed, was an older gentleman, maybe in his early to middle 70's, with short, very gray hair, wearing a horribly ugly, plaid bathrobe. It looked nothing like the plaid that either Fraser wore; this one had a great deal of very bright blue and thin lines of bright red. Whomsoever's tartan it was, it was certainly hideous. Sanger had been correct, the man was quietly chewing on a piece of toast. A breakfast of what looked like wall paste and prune juice sat on the tray table on his lap.
Frank tapped his knuckles on the door in a quiet knock. The old man, clearly startled from his thoughts, looked up. Frank smiled, one of his best, and said "Hello".
John Murray looked up and shuttered at the man that stood in the doorway. He had a verra creepy facial expression on his face. Was that how the man smiled, Murray thought to himself, and he shuttered again. The man could'n have many friends if he made faces like that with any regularity. He frowned, then took another bite of his toast. He picked up his spoon and stirred the gray glob that was suppose to be porridge. It was cold now and looked like lumpy school paste to be honest. He cringed at the thought of eating it and pushed the bowl away. He would eat his dried toast and drink the damnable prune juice. Maybe that stuttering, shy nurse would fetch him a second cup of coffee if he didn't growl at her. He knew if he scared her she'd disappear until lunch. He sighed and wished Claire were here. He was excited for her to be at Lollybroch visiting her lad, but he missed her. He certainly felt better when she was around to look in on him. He had not slept well, had woken in the middle of the night with a dull pain in his chest and his arm ached slightly this morning. What he really wanted, and needed, was to just go home and sleep in his own bed. He was quite sure that would make him feel better. With Claire at his house for the weekend, perhaps the doctor would allow him to go home, knowing the extremely capable nurse would be there to look after him. If not, she would be back on Monday and he ken Claire would come in early to tell him all about her visit. He had grown quite fond of the lass in the short amount of time he had known her. After all, they were Clan Fraser and now that she had Jamie, she would truly be family. That made him smile.
He looked back up and the Englishman was still standing in the doorway. He did not need the man to speak to ken that he wanted something from him. Probably another banker with papers he needed to sign. He signed so many yesterday and then again this morning that his hand was beginning to cramp. But no, this Sassenach was not a lawyer or a banker. His clothes were all wrong and he carried no briefcase with him. The man was wearing a suit so he was a professional but it was not a banker's fine black wool. This sod was wearing rough wool trousers, shirt, tie and a sleeveless jumper with stripes. He had a herringbone brown wool jacket over his arm and hat in his hand. No, this one was here to see him for another reason. Well, let him pluck up the courage to come in and ask then. He set his spoon down and waited for the man to enter.
Frank waited another few seconds for Mr. Murray to acknowledge him verbally but the old man only gave him the stink eye and stared him down. Fine, crotchety old bugger Frank thought to himself, and strode confidently into the room. He approached the man with his hand extended in readiness for a introductory handshake and said "Hello Mr. Murray, my name is Frank Randall. I am a close, personal friend of Claire Beauchamp." and he waited for the man take his hand.
John Murray took one look at the stiff Englishman standing in front of him with his hand out and decided they weren't going to be friends. "Close personal friend of Claire's, are ye?" he mumbled to himself under his breath. The Englishman certainly did not strike him as Claire's type. Jamie was Claire's type as he unconsciously nodded his head to confirm the fact. This coigreach (stranger) looked like one of those know-it-all's that he simply could not stand. He grumbled as he set down his toast, took a sip of the God's awful prune juice and said "Randall ye say? Friend of Claire's are ye? Then ye ken her name is now Fraser. Her be'n hand-fasted to James Fraser and all" and he watched the man's face to see just how good a friend of Claire's he was. Well, Murray decided, he would love to play cards with this Randall fella, that was for sure. The man's eyes shifted like crazy in an easy tell. However, Randall's uaigealta (creepy) smile broadened with the comment too, like the Sassenach ken somethin'n he din'na. Murray decided he din'na like that.
"Is there something I ken do fer ye?" Murray inquired, deciding on a more direct approach, as he raised an eyebrow in question.
Frank sucked in air. It was like watching Fraser and his godfather. They both raised their eyebrow exactly the same way when they asked a question. Frank shuttered and cleared his throat. He reached for the chair by the door and dragged it over closer to the man's bed. He started to sit down when...
"Before ye sit, ken ye move this tray over to the table and bring me that wrapped package on the chair. I'd be grateful..."
Frank set his coat and hat down on the chair seat and obliged Murray. He removed the barely touched food tray from Murray's lap and placed it on the table under the window. He noted the old man watched him, carefully sizing him up. That was the story of his life, of any of his attempts at wooing Claire... none of her friends ever really liked him, did not see him as husband material for Claire at all. The big, bulking, sword welding Scot, him, everyone fell in love with instantly. The Highlander hadn't even been here three weeks and Claire, his very own Claire, has promised herself to Fraser, slept with him, might possibly even be pregnant with his child... and everyone was fine with that. Pleased as punch. Lambert alone would have disowned him if it had been he rather than Jamie. He had known Claire for ten years and had never once kissed her on the lips. Nope. This Murray was just another one riding that Fraser Band Wagon. Fraser was right now living on the man's farm, rent free. Talk about the Scot's luck! The man probably thought Jamie was doing him some huge favor. And it's was Fraser's bloody home to boot.
When Frank handed the man his leather covered object, he added, "That's quite a heavy book you have all wrapped up there. From the musty smell, I'd guess it must be very old. It wouldn't be a family bible perhaps?" Frank asked. It was an educated guess. Frank had listened with intense interest as Claire had relayed the information about Murray and his family Bible to Jamie and Murtagh while at the pub. The information had lead him to toss and turn in fitful sleep later that night. What were the odds... that this man, this John Murray was an heir of Jamie's very own sister? And still in possession of Fraser's beloved Lallybroch.
Margaret Sanger was worried about John Murray. It was his chart she'd been reviewing when Frank interrupted her thoughts. The prognosis was not good. They were releasing him, so he could return home and settle his affairs. They would probably discharge him tomorrow. He had a couple of visitors yesterday after Claire left and then again first thing this morning. Business types. Lawyers, bankers and such she thought. One had asked her to witness a signature. Yes, Mr. Murray was getting his life in order. She hoped his family knew because, thus far, none of them had come around to visit him. If not the family, then usually the vultures mentioned in the will would show up and begin circling. None so far.
Claire felt a light breeze on her face from the window Jamie had partially opened last night. Unwilling to open her eyes, loath to acknowledge that the day had begun, she stretched. Her back arched off the bed as she reached to touch the headboard with her hands and point her toes in an attempt to touch the foot board at the same time. She quietly moaned with happiness, which she was quite sure Jamie would say sounded like a purr of contentment. She could get used to this. Waking up next to Jamie every day, knowing they were together, forever. Jamie kissing her, making love to her and rubbing her soon to be swollen belly and feet as she grew heavy with their child. And then soon enough, children's laughter and the patter of tiny feet running down the hall and jumping into bed with them. She sighed as the images played in her mind and she instinctively rolled to the right in search of Jamie. She reached out her hand and found herself smoothing a bare mattress. She opened one eye to find Jamie was indeed gone. Her second eye popped open at this discovery. His place beside her was left unoccupied, not even a hint of warmth from his body remained. A sigh of sadness escaped her as she realized he must have left a while ago, probably before sunup. Having slipped from their bed, dressed and departed, without her even knowing. A whisper of sadness rolled through her as she thought of the lost moment. Of watching him dress in the dim light of the banked fire that might have been. She had missed the moment that might have been a beloved memory had she not been so lazy and selfish. She only had a few days before she would have to return to Inverness. She did not want to miss a moment of her time with Jamie.
Claire rolled over and sat up. She ran her fingers though her hair, yawned and climbed from the bed. She walked to the large, almost floor to ceiling window, opened the curtains wide and looked out. She inhaled deeply as the crisp, clean air blew in through the open window. The view took her breath away, incorporating the back of the house, the garden, barn and turrach, with it's north facing door. Past the house yard, she could see a field of purple, the heather still in bloom. There were trees, perhaps apple, with brightly colored leaves of fall – a pallet of reds, browns, yellows, oranges and maroons. To the right she could see the yard wall that separated Lallybroch from the road that led to Broch Mordha and on the far side of the road what appeared to be a smallish sort of forest. Her eyes caught movement and wandered up to watch a small flock of birds flying by in a sky of light, pale cerulean blue with puffy white cotton clouds moving swiftly across the sea of blue carried on the breeze.
The noise of the awake and active farmyard grabbed Claire's attention as she turned her gaze back to the farm. There in the paddock were three horses, the two that Jamie and Murtagh rode last night and a third, black horse, dark as midnight. Even from where she stood, she could see it was a young colt and it was making quite a ruckus - neighing, pacing and stamping his hooves with impatience, nipping at the older two if they made the mistake of crowding him. Even Claire, with very little knowledge of horses, knew the colt was not tame and clearly thought he ran the farm. At present, he was most definitely demanding to be fed.
Suddenly, there was a shrill whistle. Claire looked down and there in the pig's pen was Jamie starring up at her. A smile as big as the world on his face.
"Good Morning Jamie." Claire shouted through the open window and waved. "I'm sorry I slept so late. I'll be right down to help with the chores" and returned his smile with her own.
"Ye might want ta put some clothes on first, aye? No that the animals or I mind see'n ye naked Sassenach but Murtagh is wander'n about..."
Claire looked down and realized she was indeed nude, not a stitch of clothing on, not even a ribbon in her hair. Quite embarrassed, she took a quick step backwards and pulled the curtains completely closed as she did. Fifteen minutes later, dressed, face washed, teeth brushed, hair dealt with and the room straightened, she was out the kitchen door and walking toward the barn in search of Jamie, a mug of hot tea and an apple in hand.
She side stepped the black colt as he stretched out his neck in an attempt to bit her as she entered the barn. There she found Jamie. She stopped just inside the doorway and watched her ruggedly handsome man as he mucked a stall. His back was to her as she admired him, noticing that his hair was now long enough to be pulled back into a queue and tied hastily with a ribbon. She smiled. He was wearing the same clothes he had on when she saw him that first night in her flat's kitchen, wet to the bone, a dislocated shoulder shoulder and a gunshot wound. He had taken her breath away when he'd looked up at her with those endless blue eyes, water from his hair dripping down his face and puddling on the kitchen floor. Her breath hitched again at the sight of his kilt swinging as he work. Claire did not think there was anything more sexy than Jamie, except perhaps Jamie in his kilt. His jacket had been shucked and thrown over the stall rail, his shirt sleeves rolled up past his elbows. Claire watched silently, noting that his shoulder seemed to have healed quite nicely; his body and muscles moved and flexed in an unheard rhythm as he pitched the manure into the nearby wheel barrow. His movements were strong and smooth as he worked, sweat started to dampen his hair. He paused, leaning on the handle of the pitchfork and wiped his brow with his shirtsleeve.
"I should have brought you water instead of hot tea" Claire said to announce her presence as she walked toward him, stopping at the stall entrance, next to the wheelbarrow.
Jamie turned and smiled, though not quite as large as the one her naked body had earned her minutes earlier. "And just what is that ye have on Sassenach?" he asked as his eyes swept her from head to toe.
"Oh, these are called overalls" she explained and she rubbed the apple over the bib. "I wore them all the time when I helped Lamb on his digs." She smiled sweetly as she passed him the newly polished apple and watched him take a large, hungry bite. "And theses are wellies" she declared as she raised her foot and wiggled it at him. "Very popular farm footwear. I found several pairs in the scullery off the kitchen. You might try a pair, rather than make a mess of your nice leather boots." She continued her walk along the wall of the stall until she reached his jacket. She leaned against the wood rails, allowing her elbows to rest on the garment and held out the cup of tea for him to take.
He walked over to the stall rail and set the pitchfork against the wood. He grabbed the top rail and pulled on it like he was making sure it was secure. His eyes were dancing with mischeif when he look up at her. He took a second, large bite from the apple and handed it back to her and took the cup of tea. "Well, you look verra bonnie this morning 'fer be'n dressed in a man's breeks" he said as he reached over, placed his index finger under her chin and eased her face close enough to kiss her.
"Why didn't you wake me this morning?" she asked when they parted. "I would have made you and Murtagh breakfast before you started your chores. It is the most important meal of the day, you know."
Jamie swallowed the entire cup of hot tea in one swallow. How he managed not to burn his tonsils, she'd never know. "We have no eatten yet. Only a bowl of porridge is all" he said. "I am hungry enough to eat a coo, right now."
"Speaking of... exactly where is Murtagh? I have not seen him." She took a bite of the apple and chewed while waiting for Jamie to answer.
Jamie grabbed Claire's hand, eased it toward his open, waiting mouth and took another bite of the apple, juice running down his chin as he chewed. He used his sleeve once again in lieu of a napkin.
"He said he was go'n ta check the rabbit snares he'd set up yesterday. Said if we were in luck, he catch 2 or 3 and we could have rabbit stew for our supper. Do ye ken how ta make stew Sassenach or should I show ye?
"Yes, I think I can make a stew just fine, thank you very much. I can cook, you know. I will have a look in the garden by the kitchen and see if there are any late vegetables I can add to it" and she patted his cheek. "That shirt that you are using as a substitute for a napkin is filthy by the way... a weeks worth of dirt, sweat and food I'd venture to guess. Murtagh's shirt is probably just as bad, if not worse. He sees no need for any hygiene at all as far as I can tell. Does he even know what soap is, Jamie? I can happily introduce him to a bar" and she playfully laughed. "I suppose I will have to do laundry for you while I'm here. I saw a dolly tub, posser and punch in the scullery next to the brick copper. I can use the water from the rain barrel..." she said thinking out loud. "Soap. John must have soap for laundry somewhere..."
"Well soap is the first word I ken besides laundry and shirt ye've said Sassenach, but whatever ye need, Murtagh and I will help as best we can. Jenny always said laundry was woman's work. That we were just in the way, but we can fetch water and wood and such as ye need it." He grabbed her hand from his cheek and gave it's palm a quick kiss.
"I did purchase a couple of new work shirts for you and Mutagen so you'll have something to clean to wear. I better look over what you have by way of clothes, make a list to fill in the gaps. Remind me later please."
"Aye Sassenach" and nodded his head in affirmation. "Since ye go'n in te prepare breakfast, would ye check the hen h'oose, feed 'em and gather the eggs? I have no had a chance te do that yet and there should be enough eggs for breakfast. There's a pair of wild grey geese that have settled in with them. Be careful aye? They'd as soon bite ye as be patient enough to wait fer ye ta throw the feed."
"Wild geese? In with the chickens? Really?" Claire's scrunched face expressed the perplexion she felt. "And they all get along?"
Jamie nodded his head. "The geese are great honkers too. I always ken when somethings amiss; if the farm has unwanted company like a badger or a fox. They make quite a ruckus and I have actually encouraged them to stay rather than chase them off." Do'na gather any of Jenny's eggs or she will come after ye for it."
"Jenny? Really? You named the bossy, noisy goose after your sister?" she questioned as she gave him a stare. "And I thought they only laid eggs in the Spring."
"Well, if ye had ever met Jenny, ye'd understand why I named the faidhaich gèadh after mo phiuthar. (Fierce goose/my sister) She's nesting half a dozen uighean (eggs) in the hen h'oose and according to John's Bible, Jenny had 6 bairn so I'll ken what I'll be name'n the wee lòinichean (hatchlings). Mind ye, Jenny does no wander far from the nest either. Watch 'oot. Her sassy self will come up behind ye unexpected like and honk. Ye'll drop all the hen eggs ye've gathered if ye no careful."
"Speaking from experience are you?"
Jamie just smiled and said "I may have dropped one or two the first time the damn beast honked. You wait and see how many you break, aye?"
"And Jenny's mate is around, I assume... am I to call him Ian?" Claire giggled.
"Well, ta be quite honest with ye Sassenach, the gander is quiet and watchful. He lets Jenny make all the noise and fuss which is a lot like the man I ken to have wedded my sister. Jenny had the running of Lallybroch since the day my mam died. Jenny was all of 11, so bossy was in her nature. Ian... Ian was a man of great thought before he spoke so aye, the gander is most definitely named for my bràthair. (brother) The male also has a bit of a limp, like somethin's ailing his leg. If I can catch him, do ye think ye would take a look?"
"Of course Jamie. If you catch him, I will heal him." and she laughed. She took the empty cup from Jamie, kissed him lightly on the tip of his nose and turned to leave. She stopped and turned back.
"Oh, you said something to somebody last night about seeing them at 5. I can not remember their names. What was that all about? Are we going somewhere?"
"That would be Tomas Macvey, his wife Evie and younger brother Rabbie. They have a sizable dairy farm on the other side of Broch Mordha. They are in need of a birthing shed and some of us are going over tomorrow and Saturday to help build them one. They are coming tonight to go over the plans. I thought it would give ye a chance te meet some of the families that Murtagh and I have met. I was think'n we could give them some dinner as well. Would that be to your liking, Sassenach?" He raised an eyebrow in question.
"That's fine. Lovely really. It's nice that you and Murtagh are settling in and finding the community so helpful and friendly. I would like very much to meet them." She removed the kerchief holding her hair back and retied it, pulling the loose curls back in line. "You know, that young black colt in the paddock... he thinks he is very hungry and quite upset. He is rather impatient and rude about it, biting the other two." She frowned at the thought of the two elderly horses being picked upon.
"Aye. He's unbroken, no question. He should been worked with last year but I think John's health prevented it. Donas is used to having his way, being boss. Time he learned who is master. So he'll be wait'n to be fed until he settles and understands who is in control."
"Donas?" A cousin I don't know about?"
"No. Plain truth is, the horse is the devil himself. But I will master him and he will be a handsome mount. He will be a grand horse when I am finished with him and will fetch a fair price for John when he's sold."
"Well, I wish you luck with that. I think I will put my money on the horse for now. I best stock up on bandages... for that horse is going to win several early battles, and you, my handsome, hard-headed lad are going to get bitten. A lot, I think."
Jamie threw back his head and laughed. "Do ye have so little faith in my abilities, lass? To think that a horse could best me?"
"Best you? No love, but as I said... you are going to get hurt before you win the war. Several times, I'm sure. Just don't break your arm doing it. Remember you call him The Devil for a reason." And Claire spun on her heels and walked away.
"Murtagh. There you are!" Claire called out as she walked back toward the house, the clutch of chicken eggs she'd carefully collected safely tucked in a old straw hat she'd found on the bench outside the coop. She quickly scattered the rest of the feed in the yard and caught up with Jamie's godfather while he waited for her.
"Good Morning te ye Claire. You look bonnie this morning. Farm life seems te suit ye." He said with a grin on his face. "The lad looks happy te have his heart here with him too.
"His heart?" She questioned.
"Aye, for that is what ye are te the lad, ye ken. You are his heart, lass. Plain as day. I've ken him since the day his mam brought him into this world. Watched him grow from a babe to a snot nosed bairn and from that bairn into a wee laddie. His uncles turned him from a laddie to a strong lad but there the growth stopped, even the time in France did'na make a man of him. But you Claire, you have made the lad into the man I ken he would be, was meant to be. The one I see today."
"Oh Murtagh." Claire said with a softness she hardly ever spoke with. "You do say the nicest things to me sometimes" and she leaned over and gave his cheek a gentle kiss.
Murtgah blushed, though Claire could not tell. Murtagh's moustache and beard had finally started to grow back to the point that he thought he looked like his old self; like before those bastards at the hospital had shaved him. He shifted the cleaned rabbit carcasses to his other hand and took the straw hat from the lass.
Claire placed her now freed arm through his, and leaned her head against his shoulder, as they slowly wandered their way to the main house and the kitchen within.
Jamie smiled as he watched from the barn. He ken his heart was sure to burst with love and pride. The two people most precious to him in the world were friends. Watching them made his heart soar. He and Claire needed to see the priest and get things move'n. He wanted to wed her before Hogmany, wanted her liv'n here at Lallybroch with him no go'n to and fro from Inverness. He knew he needed to find something for her to do, no just take care of Murtagh, he and the 'hoose. Claire would need somethin'n more. Somethin'n hers... somethin'n that made her feel useful and part of Lallybroch, and Broch Mordh. His fingers drummed the wood of the paddock fence as he thought. So lost in thought, he did not notice Donas' approach, teeth bared, until it was too late.