Beyond The Pale

We arrived in Brockton too late last night to run the checkpoint. Normally these far-flung stations do stay open past sunset, but apparently there has been an increase of Watch activity in the area. . .

I had snorted aloud when Dougal announced that, and again when he followed it up with us being ordered to stay in the official tent-camp site across the brook – because all checkpoint towns are outside campaign borders, and it would be illegal for us to be accommodated there.

I didn't mind about the camping facilities – in fact, they are well maintained, and if a bit spare, then at least functional – no, it was leaving Jamie shut up in the horse trailer all night I objected to.

Which is why I'm up and about early this morning, even before the sun is properly up. I use the excuse that Donas mostly tolerates me to win my way into the stabling area. I feed him half a raw beet from the food we were given last night, pat his nose, and wait for the men to finish feeding and watering him. Auld Alec is curled up next to the manger. I stoop and hand him a fragment of roast beef, which he sniffs and nibbles at for a long time, before swallowing it nearly whole.

"Greedy wee beastie," I murmur at him fondly, and scritch his favourite spot at the root of his tail.

Jamie had reassured me last night that he'd be okay – that it was hardly the first time he'd spent long hours shut up in his hiding place – but I just want to give him a breather, at least. And maybe a kiss or two. . .

The men finish caring for the other horse as well, and then go in search of a hot drink and breakfast. There are a few empty stalls between me and the rear tent flap – which leads out to where the Rover is parked with its trailer. All I need to do is hang out with the horses a few minutes more. . .

Dougal appears at my side, handing a chunk of raw carrot to the other horse. He clicks his tongue, and pats it between the ears, and then turns to me.

His eyes are closed off, and very cool, but not actually antagonistic at the moment. He gives a minute jerk with his head, indicating I should follow him. I sigh, and do so reluctantly, slowly falling into step with him along the pathway next to the brook.

His hands are clasped behind his back, his lips set firmly shut, his whole posture suggesting he's more invested in watching the warm beginnings of the sunrise over the hills than he is in speaking to me.

I let the silence linger. The things I have to hide from Dougal are not things he'd ever expect to see – so being alone with him in silence is no danger to me.

Silence being a great revealer, of course. . .

"I've asked ye many a time, Sassenach," he says finally, in a quiet, reasonable tone, "Who ye are, and who ye work for. But it occurs to me that I may not have been entirely clear what I mean by those questions."

"Oh? Do you mean something more than the usual?"

"Aye. I mean what are ye doing?" He touches his lips with two fingers of one hand, then makes a fist as his eyes harden immeasurably, "And toward what end?"

I smirk, sardonically. I couldn't answer that even if I wanted to.

"That just about the one thing you'll never get out of me, Dougal. And my name is Claire, Mrs. Beauchamp, or lassie. Anything else, and I will end this conversation."

He shakes his head, bemused, "Ye. Have the gall to make demands-"

"Boundaries, Dougal. Not demands. And we all know just how important boundaries are in this situation, don't we?"

He gives an ugly sneer, "What the dammned hell kind of quim hev ye got on ye that would mek the lad turn on me like-"

"It's your own fault. And you know it."

He grinds his teeth.

"And if you don't know that I am not the sort who can be bullied into giving away things that are nobody's business but my own, then you're not only stupid, you're willfully ignorant, which is far worse."

Suddenly, he grabs me by both lapels of my jacket, "Ye will tell me who ye are, an' what's goin' on wi' ye, and ye will-"

"Are you alright, miss?"

We have come up to the small bridge that crosses the brook, and directly across it is a young, very smartly turned out Peace Agent.

A Peace Agent who bears a remarkable resemblance to a younger Frank, as he was when I first met him. . .

"I'm. . . fine. . . yes, thank you, officer," Dougal's grip on my coat slackens, and I pull away from him, as both of us stare quite unabashedly at this polite newcomer, "Uhm. . . have we met before? And it's Mrs."

"Lieutenant," he says brightly, "Lieutenant Randall, missus. And I don't think so. Perhaps you mean my brother, Captain Randall? We've always looked a lot alike."

My mind is an absolute jumble, being pulled in what seems like a dozen ways at once, "O-oh. Yes. Probably. Did you. . . want something, Lieutenant?"

He pulls himself very upright, and says, formally, "The commanding officer of the Brockton Checkpoint station would deem it an honour if the good woman traveling with the MacKenzie Campaign party would consent to have breakfast with him and his team of-"

"Now this really is beyond the pale!" snaps Dougal, viciously, "Furst ye refuse us checkpoint searvice ten minutes after yer arbitrary shuttering time, an' now ye-"

"Actually sir, you are the ones outside the Pale."

Dougal stutters to a halt, "ye- . . . what?"

"The Pale was an area of British protection, sir. Those who insisted upon their own independence went to live "beyond the Pale". When you or any of your party are invited into the officially English areas of this town sir, you are stepping into our protection, not out of it."

The incredulous look on Dougal's face really is something to see, "Your protec- young man, d'ye have evan the slightest notion-"

"I'm authorized to allow the lady to bring a companion with her to meet my commander, if she wishes," he looks at me and nods respectfully, "Shall I extend the invitation to you both, missus?"

I look back and forth between the utterly improbable young man on one side of me, and the intensely fuming Scot on the other.

The world has not seemed quite so surreal to me for some considerable time. . .

I take a deep breath, and summon all my Central trained dignity to my aid, "Yes. Come along Dougal, shall we be just, and hear the man out fairly?" I offer him my arm, as though I am the one with any power or control in this situation. Both men stare at me, struck by this sudden reversal of my personality. A strange light comes into Dougal's eyes – an odd, untranslatable thing I've seen there before, but don't have time to question now. . .

He takes my arm, in a grotesque parody of politeness, "Aye. Let's."