After disposing of Claire's unwanted medicinals, Jamie headed back to the stables to complete his work for the day. As he passed through the castle yard he was forced to jump quickly out of the way as a very white faced and trembling tailor came rushing out of the castle, ribbons and fabrics flapping in the wake behind him. The poor man was fretting and mumbling anxiously to himself about the impossibility of having it done by tomorrow. Whatever that meant.

Murtagh, saw Jamie and joined him for the walk across the meadow to the stables.

"Saw Mistress Beauchamp this mornin'," his godfather informed him.

"Oh?" replied Jamie.

"Some ol' cottar broke his wrist and needed help getting' to the surgery. Looks like her ill humor has passed and now she seems hell bent on winnin' over Colum by mendin' everybody in Clan MacKenzie."

"Aye, a good tactic," replied Jamie, looking back over his shoulder at the castle, "I saw her today too, though she didn't see me, hard a' work at her physickin'. I am glad to see her spirits returnin' to normal."

Murtagh had been the first person Jamie went to Saturday morning when he found Claire was staying. His godfather confessed he had heard something to that effect and was glad for Jamie's sake that the lass had remained at Leoch.

Jamie had not bothered Claire while she resettled herself, but now, he was itching to speak to her again. And 'itching' was the operative word. He had purposely left his bandage on so that he could have an excuse to see her alone, and the dressing was beginning to chafe a little. He would now bide his time until an appropriate opportunity arose for him to ask her for help with it.

A few hours later, much to Jamie's delight and surprise, Claire came bustling into the stables, medicine box in her hands and Rupert hot on her heels. She smiled at Jamie, but without so much as a 'how do you do,' she insisted, however politely, "I need a horse."

Someone in the village was in need of her urgent attention, she explained.

Jamie quickly saddled a horse for her while Rupert readied his horse Peggy for the ride.

"I'm sorry Colum wouldn't let you go," he said quietly to Claire, while he worked. "Maybe I could talk to him," he offered hopefully.

"No, it's alright," she replied with a sigh of annoyance, "I doubt it would do any good. I'm sure I'll get back to my family somehow." She changed the subject, "I'm glad to see your shoulder doing better."

"Oh, aye," he replied, "Taing dhut (thank you)."

Jamie, done bridling the horse, walked the mare out to the yard for Claire. Helping her mount was an electric experience. It was the first time he had put his hands on her since they arrived at Leoch over a week ago. He hadn't realized how much he missed holding her until that brief moment when he helped her into the saddle. He allowed his hands to linger on her waist for an extra moment while they stared into each other's eyes.

The moment was broken by the arrival of Rupert on Peggy. "Are ye ready, lass? Let's go get this over with."

"Thank you," Claire said, smiling down at Jamie. "Will you be at the concert tonight?" she inquired, before spurring her horse n to action.

"Aye," he replied, "I'll see you there."

Jamie watched them ride off. Before they had gone too far, Claire turned around and gave him a smile and a wave.

….oOo….

Jamie walked into the hall for the concert that evening looking forward to seeing Claire there. Shaking hands with some of the men he knew, he worked his way toward the benches. Glancing over the audience he caught the wave of an arm and he smiled. It was a lithe, feminine arm and it was attached to Mistress Beauchamp. He quickly waved back and made his way over to her as she slid across the bench to make room for him. Why she slid toward him, forcing him to crawl over her, he did not know. He was just thrilled that she wanted him with her.

'Drat' he thought to himself when he saw who was on the other side of Claire. He had been doing his best to avoid Laoghaire ever since he rescued her from a public lashing. Now he would have to sit next to the girl.

"Laoghaire," Jamie addressed the young lass. "Mrs. Beauchamp," he greeted Claire.

"Mr. MacTavish," said Claire, seemingly a little more jovial than expected in her predicament, "I was just telling miss MacKenzie how beautiful she looked tonight."

What? Thought Jamie. Who? Oh, aye, the lass. "Aye," replied Jamie, and he glanced quickly at Laoghaire. Returning his gaze to Claire, he concurred flippantly, "Aye, she's bonny."

The bard began to play his lyre and sing.

"I don't understand a word," Claire dreamily declared, "but it's so beautiful." She leaned forward and inquired, "Has Gwyllyn been at the castle long?"

Jamie had noticed the cup of Rhenish in her hand but only now was beginning to think she might be tipsy, for why else would she lean so far forward to ask him a question when he was right at her elbow.

"Aye," replied he, "Many years. I spent a year at Leoch when I was sixteen or so. Gwyllyn was here then. Colum pays him well. Has to. The Welshman would be welcome at any Laird's hearth."

A meek sounding voice came from the other side of him, "I remember when you were here before." Aye, Laoghaire, he had forgotten the girl was there.

"Mm, do you?" replied Claire, with a sly smile and an encouraging look for the girl.

"You canna been much more than seven or eight yourself," Jamie said to Laoghaire, then to Claire, "I doubt I was much to see then so as to be remembered."

"Well, I do remember, though," averred, Laoghaire, "You were so..." she stopped, cheeks flushing at the thought of what she almost said, then changed her tack, "I mean, do you not remember me from then?"

"No. No, I dinna think so," he obliviously replied. "Still, I wouldna even be likely to," he added standoffishly. Again, directing his comment to Claire, he explained self depreciatingly, "A young birkie of sixteen's too taken up with his own grand self to pay much heed to what he thinks are naught but a rabble of snot-nosed Bairns."

Claire elbowed him. He must be speaking too loud for a concert, so he stayed quiet.

They listened to the bard again for a few minutes.

Claire took another sip of her Rhenish. "Mm," she intoned delectably.

"Colum's Rhenish, is it?" Jamie surmised.

"It's very good," replied Claire, with a small hiccup, "I've had two... three glasses," she added with some embarrassment. "You can have the rest if you like."

Jamie gladly took the glass, hoping to keep Claire from getting any more drunk.

"Most folks who drink with Colum are under the table after the second glass," he stated.

"Are you implying that I'm intoxicated?" she asked, feigning offense, but still smiling.

"I'd be impressed if you weren't." he responded, raising an eyebrow.

The song ended and the audience burst into a round of applause. Jamie figured now was his chance to get her safely back to her room before the stupor of three glasses of Rhenish took complete hold over her and she utterly embarrassed herself.

He leaned in and told her, "This dressing's been chafing me for days. Would you mind helping me with it?"

"Now?" she asked incredulously.

"Well..." he cleared his throat.

"Yes, of course," she graciously conceded.

Jamie downed the rest of the Rhenish and handed the glass unceremoniously to Laoghaire. "Take that back, will you, lass?" he said without so much as a glance at her. He rose and followed Claire out of the hall.

They entered the surgery a few minutes later.

"All right," Claire said, turning to him and steadying herself on the table, "so let's have a look at that shoulder."

Jamie, feeling bad about his deception, wished to clear his conscience, "Uh, I dinna need your help."

"Hmm?" Claire gave him a puzzled look.

"I just thought I should see you back to surgery while you could still walk upright," he said, revealing his altruistic intent.

Claire chuckled embarrassedly, "Oh. Thank you. I suppose I did overindulge slightly. I should have known, though. If it was really uncomfortable, I imagine you would have just ripped off the bandages yourself."

"Oh," said Jamie, taking the opportunity to flirt with her, "I was afraid to. Thought I'd get my arse skelped if I touched it."

"Too right," said Claire drunkenly joining in the banter, "I am the healer, after all. I'm in charge."

"Never doubted it," was his jocular rejoinder.

They both chuckled.

"Really, though," she said, with seriousness, "if it was bothering you, you should have told me. I would have taken it off for you the other day at the stable."

"No," replied Jamie thoughtfully, "I couldna do that before Alec."

"Scars," Claire said with an understanding nod, "You don't want Alec to know you've been flogged?"

"No. No," Jamie explained as he walked over to lean against the table next to her, "Old Alec knows I've been flogged, but he's not seen it. To know something like that is... well, it's not the same as seeing it with your own eyes. It's a bit personal, maybe, is what I mean. I think if Alec were to see the scars, he couldna see me anymore without thinking of my back."

"You don't mind me seeing your back?" she pointed out.

"I don't," he stated matter of factly, "You seem to have a knack for letting me know you feel sorry for it, without making me feel pitiful about it. Anyway..." Jamie concluded, pushing away from the table, "I should go."

"Wait," Claire called out to him, not really knowing why she didn't want him to leave just yet. She walked slowly toward him. Maybe it was the Rhenish talking. "Let me have a look at that," she covered nicely.

He stood still, trying not to look at her as she undressed him to examine his wound. His heart bet faster. The act seemed much more intimate than a simple medical examination and he was afraid of what he might do with her so close to him. Their chemistry sparked in the small amount of space between them.

His father had taught him not to take advantage of a lady in her cups and adhering to that rule was becoming harder and harder by the moment (as was something else).

"It's scabbed over nicely," she said, looking up and catching his eye for a moment before he looked away again, trying to fight his desire. She went back to her examination. "There's no drainage. Take those bandages off in a few days," she concluded.

Jamie tried to tamp down his rising lust. "As you say," he replied with a smirk.

"Good night, Mr. MacTavish," Claire bade him, shyly.

"Good night, Mistress Beauchamp," Jamie said to her as he tore himself away from her magnetic pull to leave. He only looked back once as he climbed the stair out of the surgery. Claire was still smiling at him with those sparkling eyes.

When he was gone Claire let out a deep sigh and slumped against the table. 'Well, that was sobering,' she thought. She had been desperately trying to get back to her own time, back to Frank. But whenever she was with the brawny redheaded Scot she completely forgot about her husband. Guilt washed over her.

She looked about the room. It was less than a fortnight ago that she and Frank had made love in this very room. She closed her eyes and tried to recall it: the look in his eyes, his warm hands on her body, every kiss, every caress, every tremor of lust. Her eyes flew open wide when she realized the man she was making love to in this fantasy was not Frank but Jamie!

She covered her face in shame, threw herself down on her bed, and cried herself to sleep.