Laird Love Ye

When I wake up from my nap, it is late afternoon. A few flashes of sunlight are slipping beneath the high cloud cover, and into my room at our latest B&B. There is a tray on my bedside table, and on it are the remains of a small meal, an empty pot of tea, and an open whisky bottle, still about two-thirds full. I sit up, and pour myself another dram.

Well. Back at it, then.

I go over to the little desk by the window, and pull out the two letters I started before I simply had to sleep.

One to Fergus, one to Jamie. Both explaining who I am, when I am from, and why I must leave.

Well. A few of the reasons.

By all the gods that may or may not exist. . .

I want to stay.

Oh, I want to. . .

I have so many reasons to go. And there are just as many reasons not to. Jamie is a collision of them all.

He may not be in love with me, but he does care for me. I may not belong here, but he makes me feel like I do. I may crave home, but he can make me feel like he is my home. It may be my responsibility to go, but he is my responsibility too. We might be soulmates, but that might mean it is my destiny to leave.

He is and will be a much more stable parent for Fergus – and both of them might be better off without me – but by the same token, he is a wonderful father, and deserves whatever support and co-parenting I can give him.

Leaving is the only way I can protect Jamie from Jack, but staying is the only way I can continue to protect him from Jack.

Going back through the stones might be the best way to keep me safe, but marrying him. . .

Marrying Jamie might make my life safer, but my heart. . .

The things he could do to me, without even trying. The things he has done, without even knowing.

Marrying him could utterly destroy us both.

But Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, do I want to do it anyway.

Leaving may be right, but if it is, then being with him is also right.

I have to go.

I have to stay.

And both feel incredibly selfish.

I kick back my drink, and pour myself another.

The universe has a sick, twisted sense of humour.

I don't deserve him. I do want him.

I want him like my lungs want air. . .

There is a quiet knock at my door.

"Come in."

Jamie steps through the door. I quickly shuffle the letters under some blank pages, and gesture him in. There is only the one chair, so he sits on the edge of the bed. I finish my dram, pour another, and hand it to him. He takes a sip, and looks down into the glass.

"Dougal wants us to be married."

"I know."

He kicks back his drink, and slaps the glass down on the desk. I refill it.

"Christ, Sorcha, ye'd think we'd been sentenced tae tha gallows wi' how we're drinkin' over this," he picks up the glass, and sips again.

"This" being the car you're going to appropriate for me, and the run to Inverness we're going to make tonight, I assume?"

He looks sharply at me, "What?"

"Well, that's the only way I can see of doing it. Give me a bit of money and a ride into Inverness, and I'll go back the way I came. Safest way for everyone. I'll miss you and Fergus and Murtagh and the boys, but-"

He eyes are incredulous, "Lord love ye, Sorcha, ye cannae be thinkin' of leavin'?"

"Well, what else do you want me to be thinking of?"

He takes a long sip of his drink, "Weel, other than the fact that wi' the uproar ye caused this mornin', I verry much doubt the Agents will let ye get to, through, around, in or out of Inverness safely - that or any non-clanland place, for that matter - I did think ye might spare a thought or two towards marryin' me. . ."

"Jamie," I sigh, "I'd never spring a marriage on you, no matter how much of a bind I'm in. It's far from the worst option, of course, and yes, I have spared a thought or two towards it – more than two, in fact. And I very quickly came to the conclusion that I'd never rush you into something unconsidered like this. Not after all you've told me. What kind of girlfriend would I be if did that to you?"

"What makes ye think I havenae considered marrying ye, Sorcha?"

I sit up straight at that, "You. . . mean you have?"

"Every day. A dozen times a day," he swirls his whisky, dreamily, "I've imagined ye in. . . oh, it mus' be a million different wedding dresses, an' in a thousand different places all over the world, sayin' hundreds o' different versions of vows in front of a myriad o' different witnesses."

I should have remembered the depth of his crush on me. It's more than like – he has me on a pedestal. I am a dream woman to him – not myself.

He has no idea who I really am. . . what I am really like. . . And he wouldn't believe it, even if I told him.

"I've been imaginin' marryin' ye for months, Sassenach."

I flinch a little at the nickname, feeling terrible about this whole situation.

"Sorry. I've called ye that so much, still think of ye as Sassenach, evan when I cannae say it."

I have to give him something before I go. Something. Something more than a letter of explanation. And I need as much of him as I can get. So I'll know. So I'll remember. . .

"Our first morning as man and wife. You can call me Sassenach again then. Deal?"

"Does that mean. . . ye will marry me?"

He doesn't really love me. It's more than he's never said the words – he is clearly just obsessed with me. Everything he's done and said on this campaign has only confirmed that. The whole soulmate thing sounds nice, but it's just an excuse, really. So maybe doing this would be good for both of us. Let him get it out of his system. Give me the memories I'll need to survive. . .

"Only if you're sure, Jamie. I'm still willing to risk a run to Inverness if-"

His arms are around me, and his mouth is on mine. I moan into his lips, and hold him closer.

God do I want this man. . .

One night. Just let me get my fill of him for one night.

Maybe that will be enough. . .

"We have all of tomorrow, an' part of the next day tae plan, an' bring it all together," he sits back down on the bed, pulling me along beside him, "Then we'll get married that afternoon, an' that night. . ." he trails off and coughs a little, "The landlady here has already agreed tae cook up a big reception feast, along wi' a cake, an' considering the men involved, almost enough drink."

I chuckle. "And has Dougal agreed to pay for all that?"

"Oh aye. An' more. He seems tae think it'll make a good campaign moment. . ."

"Oh. Right."

This consideration strikes incredibly cold when surrounded by all the other things that have happened today, but it is actually a little reassuring to me. At least this is the Dougal I have come to know and not hate over-much. . .

Jamie can clearly feel my consternation.

"Aye. I feel the same, Sorcha. But let's no' think of it now, agreed?"

"Agreed. What else have you planned while I was sleeping?"

"Weel, I refuse tae get married in a church, so-"

"Wait. . . you do? Don't, I mean? Don't want to get married in a church?"

"No. I wilnae ask a god I dinnae believe in tae bless the one thing I do."

"Believe in?"

"Aye. Marriage. It's the only Catholic sacrament worth a damn."

I snort, "That's certainly a. . . striking way to put it. . ."

"Aye. Now we c'n go fully secular, if ye want – a procurator fiscal wilnae be difficult tae track down in a place this size – but Murtagh said a Druid lady approached him jus' as we got inta town."

"Oh? How odd."

"It was, he said. But she said she'd had a dream or a vision or summat, and offered tae conduct the full ceremony for free. He didnae ken what she was talking about until Dougal came an' explained what ye needed. . ."

"And. . . how do you feel about a ceremony like that?"

He shrugs, "Pagan is as close tae organized religion as I wantae get these days. How do you feel about it, mo nighean?"

"About the same."

"Alright, sae that'll be easy enough done. I'll havetae track down a Fraser tartan taemorrow, an' ye'll havetae find a dress ye like, but the real sticking points are the rings, an' our wedding gifts."

"Are they? Why?"

He pulls something metal out of his pocket, and shows me, "I want our rings tae be made of this, an' I dinnae ken if there will be time."

It's a key. An antique, very fancy key.

"But. . . why, Jamie?"

He runs a thumb over it, "Because there's only three of these auld keys tae Lallybroch left in the world, and I've carried this'un the whole four years of my exile."

"Lallybroch? The whisky brand you like so much?"

"Aye. I ken I've no' told ye yet, but I'm Laird of Broch Tuarach. Every'un calls it Lallybroch, but the full name is Broch Tuarach."

I reach out and cup the hand he has holding the key, "A laird? Why didn't you ever tell me?"

He shrugs, "Didnae seem important. Until now."

I snuggle into his side, "So now can you tell me about it?"

"Aye. There's over a dozen tenants on our land, an' the auld stone manor house was turned inta a distillery four or five generations ago. The broch itself is jus' a landmark now, a'course."

"So where do you live?"

"The Big House. Or that's what Da called it while he was buildin' it. Jenny an' Ian live there now."

"Sounds like somewhere I'd want to live too."

He smiles, "Aye, ye'd look a treat at the head of the table there, Sorcha, so ye would."

"So, what about the key?"

"Oh, aye," he hands it to me for a minute, "It's good auld steel – more than enough metal for a pair o' rings."

"So I see." I hand it back.

"An' I ken what I want, but it takes a bit ov time – reforging, electroplating, an' such."

"A whole working day and a half? Should be enough time. Especially with Dougal paying."

"Aye, but I want some complicated figuring. An' enamels. An' engraving." He looks hard at me, suddenly concerned, "Ye dinnae have any preference yourself? Ye'er willing tae let me have my way in this?"

"I don't see why not. You clearly care a lot about it, you've thought it through, and I trust you."

"But ye dinnae want any input?"

"Not really. Frank and I never had wedding rings – he called them a ridiculous remnant of a time when wives were chattel."

"But, what do ye think of them, Sorcha?"

He is looking at me very intently, and I take a second to consider my thoughts.

"I've honestly never thought too much about them at all. Jewelry is all very well, but it's individuals who attach meaning to things – or they should be, in my opinion. What society says things mean can be a framework – and a very useful and necessary framework, at times – but it's living that matters. What you do, how you think – the value you put in to something, not just the value you get out it." I close his fingers around the key, "You've put time and effort and thought into these rings, Jamie. I value that, and I will value that, more than any piece of jewelry you ever give me."

He gives me a soft, warm smile, and an even softer, warmer kiss.

"Tha's good tae ken, mo ghràidh – because I havenae a brass farthing tae give ye for a wedding present."

Gently, I run the backs of my fingers over the stubble on his chin. He is such a dear, darling man. . .

If we are doing this, I might as well go for broke.

"I want you to tell me you love me."

He blinks hard at me a few times, "Wh. . ."

"For my wedding present, I want you to tell me you love me. Whenever I ask you to, you'll say it. And. . . try to mean it. Or, at least. . . don't let me see if you don't mean it. I know we've promised each other truth, but just this once, I'm asking you to. . . bend that a little. Please."

He looks silently at me, shocked quite speechless.

"And, in return. . . I'll give you the wedding night of your dreams."

Shock doesn't begin to cover the look he gives me now.

He runs a hand over his face, and is silent for a long minute or two. Then, he takes me gently by the shoulders, and looks me in my eyes, "So. . . let me be verrah clear, Sorcha. You are offering me your body. . . in exchange for me sayin' I love ye?"

I shake my head. "No. I'm offering the best wedding night I can give you. In exchange for the best wedding night you can give me."

"And. . . that means offering. . . so much - in exchange for so little?"

My conscience strikes me from several different directions.

"It isn't little, Jamie. Those three words. . . I haven't heard them in so very long. And the last person I heard them from. . ." I angrily swipe at the tears pricking in my eyes, "Jamie, Frank said some terrible things to me the night before he died. I know he loved me, but his last words to me were not "I love you". We never got to make that up. I just. . . just for one night, I want to hear those words again. And I want to hear them from you."

He pulls away a little, closes his eyes, and visibly gathers himself. When he speaks it is in a formal, reverent tone.

"Whenever ye ask it of me, Sorcha, I will tell ye I love ye. That's a promise."

I grin, "That, James Fraser, is a gift."

I throw a leg over his lap, and kiss him breathless while he takes the opportunity to get a proper handful or two of my arse. . .

I am running a long line of kisses down his neck when I ask what I know is probably the silliest and most obvious of questions. But I still have to know for sure. . .

"You do want me, right?"

He snorts a laugh, "Christ Sorcha, I dinnae think I could evar be near ye an' no' want ye. The question is how I've managed tae keep my hands from ye all this time."

I wriggle my backside in his grasp, "Oh? You think this qualifies as "keeping your hands off me", do you?"

"Weel. . ."

"At least that means my half of this bargain will be easy enough. . ."

He gives a mischievous grin, "Oh will it now? An' what if I'm inta feet? Or I want ye tae sing show tunes?"

"That," I pull his face to mine, "Can be arranged."

We only stop kissing when there is another quiet, polite knock. Jamie lifts me back into my chair, and goes to open the door. It's Ned, delivering the contract of marriage. He is closely followed by Dougal, who dismisses him, so abruptly as to be almost inconsiderate.

Ah. I see the imperious, cool-hearted Dougal is back with a vengeance.

Where he ever went, and why, is beyond me at the moment, what with the feel of Jamie's hands and mouth still tingling all over me. . .

When Ned is gone, Dougal waves the papers in front of both of us, very seriously.

"Now then, listen, the pair of ye. This is a Hail Mary play. There's tae be nae question of this marriage bein' legal. It will be consummated, regardless of any private agreements between ye - even if we all have tae troop in an watch ye do the deed tae make sure ye've done it. Do I make myself clear?"

It is very nearly worth everything that's happened today to see the confusion on Dougal's face when we both burst out laughing.