The Dunbonnet

He pauses a long time. His expression is utterly blank, save for his eyes, where I can see our entire history being played in his mind. I desperately want to say more, start explaining, but his hands tighten on me, and I stop.

I don't know what I expect his reaction to be, or what he is going to say. Whenever I thought of this moment, my imagination had never got so far. And that turns out to be a good thing.

Because I'd never have imagined what he does say.

"Is that why ye'ed nevar had a steak before?"

This is sufficiently nonsensical, and so gorgeously, delightfully trivial that all of the tension breaks, and we laugh. Together, this time. We haven't laughed together in days. . .

As soon as that thought hits me, I am serious again.

"You. . . Jamie. . . you. . . you're just going to believe me?"

"Dinnae have a reason not to, Sassenach."

And so he believes me.

Just like that.

It's impossible.

But it's true.

"But. . . but. . ."

I am completely at a loss for words.

This man.

This man.

"Oh, I dinnae understand – no' a bit. No' yet. But ye'll tell me, now. I ken that." He cuddles me close, "But in the mornin'. An' I do mean the mornin' this time. I promise I wilnae be tae mad tae listen. Or mad at all. An' I'll listen. An' I'll believe what ye tell me."

"But. . . steak, Jamie? No, we didn't have steak in my time. Not easily accessible to me, anyway. And that's all you want to know for tonight? Really?"

He shrugs a little, "Weel, I figure it's all part an' parcel, tae be honest. If that's the why of it in that case, it's probably also why ye asked for all those strange tools when ye were fixin' the Rover yer first day here, and why ye didnae have an ID or a com, or why ye use such strange idioms all the time – like saying 'a cob for' instead of 'a fig', or township instead of province, or chicken shite instead of pig or horse - an' probably why neither Frank nor anny'un else evar sent ye chocolates, an' why ye'ed nevar had a pet, an' why ye didnae ken what a skunk was, nor a bike either."

I stare at him, open-mouthed, "You. . . kept track? With all that's been happening these past months, you actually kept track of all those little things you let slide?"

He scoffs, "A'course I kept track. I love ye!"

I lean my head on his chest, and hold him tightly to me.

"How are you so perfect, Jamie? How?"

"I'm no' perfect, mo ghràidh," he lifts my chin and kisses me, "I'm only yours."

And that is, emphatically, enough for now.

My sleep is warm, and long, and blessedly without dreams.

I wake up to the smell of hot porridge and tea, and the sight of my husband, sitting in my old room at Lamb's manse, reading the two unfinished letters I was going to give him and Fergus before the plan became marriage.

And love. And commitment. And spectacularly incredible sex.

And now. . . truth.

Whole, unvarnished truth.

I get up, and get into the bathrobe he's laid out for me, and join him at the little table.

"I went tae put yer wee cloak away in yer bag this morning, Sorcha, an' found these," he hefts the letters, "I saw Fergus's name, an' mine, an'. . ."

I nod, "Not a bad place to start, actually."

"Ye arenae mad?"

"I. . . don't see how I have any right to be. Not at this point, Jamie. I'm still stunned you're going to. . . to. . . just. . . believe me. . ."

He shrugs, "Weel, ye'ev allus told me the truth before, and ye'ev promised ye allus will. I dinnae see why ye'ed suddenly lie about jus' this – seems a downright stupid thing tae invent for no reason, an' stupid ye mos' definitely are not."

"But. . . you don't think I'm crazy?"

"Weel. . ." he grins, teasingly, "Slightly tetched, on occasion, but we'er all that, aye?" he goes solemn, picks up my hand and kisses it, "No, Sassenach, if there's one thing ye are, it's sane. Only a sane woman could go up against Dougal an' win time after time. A crazy one might win once, bu' no' over an' over."

"That's your criteria for sanity? Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ."

"Agh. Fine then. Ye cuss tae well tae be insane. Better?"

I shake my head.

"Jamie. . ."

"The fact is, Sassenach, I dinnae care. These letters say ye were goin' tae leave. Leave leave. Back tae yer own time. Two nights ago I found ye in the very stone circle ye were goin' tae use." His hands clasp hard around his coffee mug, "I'll believe ye'er a she-devil sent tae personally damn my soul tae hell if ye'll only stay."

My jaw drops, "But. . . Jamie. . . I wrote those before I was going to marry you. Before I knew I loved you." I shake my head, "Do you really think I'd choose anything or anyone over you after I realized that?"

He puts his coffee down.

"Ye. . . chose me?"

"The very minute I knew I loved you, Jamie. I'd never leave after knowing that. Never. You're half my soul and all of my heart."

He holds his hands to his face a minute. They are wet when he pulls them away.

"Truly, Sassenach?"

I plant my hands flat on the table, "James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser, if you have ever believed me about anything, believe that I love you, I chose you, I choose you, I will choose you, and there is nothing for me beyond those stones. Nothing. Except loneliness, and a dying world. All that I am, or ever was, is gone from there. It's all here. Now. With you."

I get up, and sit in his lap. I pull his face to mine, and kiss away all the tear tracks.

His arms wind around me, trembling with the most intense relief I've ever seen a man experience.

He buries his face in my chest, and speaks so low I have to strain to hear him.

"D'ye ken why I've been so desperate tae have ye? Tae keep ye?"

"No."

He sighs deeply, and manages to get himself under some control. He raises his head. "It's because I was givin' us a month. If we didnae work out by then – if ye didnae love me an' could say so, if we couldnae live wi' each other bein' allus in the same bed, if we couldnae choose each other, day by day – I was going tae give ye Balriggan."

"What? The place you said last night. . . ?"

He nods, "It's a cottage on Fraser land, jus' bordering Lallybroch. I dinnae exactly own it, but who gets tae live there is up tae me. An' it's on clan registered land. Ye'ed be safe there. As safe as Leoch, in any case. Lallybroch isnae registered, ken? I hadtae flee before I could make it official. But ye'ed be safe at Balriggan."

I lean back a little, and run my palms across his shoulders, "Is this what you said you'd explain to me once we got back to Leoch?

"Aye. It is."

"You were going to. . . let us live apart?"

He nods, "All I knew was that if ye didnae love me, I couldnae bear tae live wi' ye. Tae see ye evary day an' ken ye werenae mine. Tae share yer bed, an' nevar share yer heart. Tae ken the depths of yer body, but no' once tae have touched yer soul. I couldnae have lived like that, Sassenach. I'd stay married tae ye for yer protection, but I couldnae see ye. Evar."

He laughs, darkly, "Bu' I'm a selfish bastard. I wanted as much of ye as I could get before I gave ye up."

He pushes my hair aside, and kisses the base of my neck, "I did think all was well. An' then ye went from me. . ."

I blink, stunned by the irony. "Well, you might be more selfish, but I'm more of a bastard. I was only going to give us one night."

His eyes go wide, "One night? That's all, Sorcha?" He cups my arse and squeezes it, "Christ, ye must'ha thought me a turribly green boy. . ."

"Oh, no, darling, no no no," I reassure him with a kiss, "You see, I was being selfish too. I was afraid I'd like it too much. . ." I wriggle in his lap a little, "And that I'd get addicted, and never leave. I thought I ought to leave, you see. That I had to leave." I kiss him again, "But regardless, then I had you. And I discovered just how deliciously addictive you really are."

"Oh." He kisses up my neck to a tingly spot behind my ear he just discovered last night. . . "That's what made ye love me then? My taste?"

"Mmm. It certainly didn't hurt, you sweet Jammie Dodger."

I turn and take his mouth, gripping his chin the way he held mine last night. I bury my other hand in his hair, and lose myself for a while.

I pull back to catch my breath, "Besides, I had to stay, Jamie. Where else could I have a hot bath every day if I wanted?"

He laughs, "Hot baths, Sassenach? That's what tipped the scales?"

"No. They never even occurred to me at the time. I just wanted to hear you laugh again."

His eyes go soft, "I do love ye, Claire. But if all that's so. . . why did ye sleepwalk tae those stones in the first place?"

"I don't know. I was. . . drawn there. In a. . . sort of dream. I don't know how or why. But I'm glad I was. I got to see Lamb one last time. He gave us his blessing."

"Ye had another vision, then?"

"Yes."

"An' he knew about us?"

"Yes. It was odd. Like I say, I don't know what's happening with that. In fact, I barely know what's happening with any of it. At all. All I know is, Quentin Lambert Beauchamp was there, and he offered us his blessing, if we wanted it. I will miss him – he's a dear. But that's nowhere near enough to keep me from you. . ."

I bend my head to kiss him again, but he stops me,

"Sassenach. . . yer uncle's name is Beauchamp? Yer father's brother?"

"Oh."

My stomach drops. I know where this is headed. . .

"Yes. Beauchamp is my maiden name."

"An' Moriston?"

"My mother's maiden name."

"Sae ye do have Scottish blood?"

"Yes. Just on my mother's side, not my father's."

He nods, slowly.

"An' so. . ."

He doesn't want to ask.

I don't want to tell him.

But I have to.

"Frank's full name was Franklin Wolverton Randall."

He takes it well, considering. He leans back, and looks off into the distance.

"He was related to. . . . . . this. . . Randall?"

"Yes. I don't know the exact connection. Lamb just told me he was the only ancestor he could find any record of for Frank."

He clenches his jaw, and looks very stern, but there is none of the frantic anger of yesterday.

I don't know yet if that's encouraging, or concerning. . .

"The really spooky part is. . . they look almost exactly similar."

"Do they now?"

"Yes. Scared the daylights out of me my first day here. The one person I knew for certain couldn't possibly be here. . . and he was. . . and so different. . . so instantly vicious and violent, when Frank was never that way." I shiver.

Jamie runs his hands up and down my arms, "When did ye. . . go back tae Beauchamp?"

"Three years ago. I was trying to forget, you see."

"Ye were? Trying to?"

"Yes. Desperately."

All the horrible things Frank said to me on his last day come back to me, for the first time tinged with relief. At last, I will be able to tell Jamie about them. Soon. Very soon. But not now. . .

"Sae how exactly did ye discover yer own personal Guardian of Forever? Yer letters stop before ye say."

"My own what?"

"Guardian of Forever. Auld episode of Star Trek. There's this stone on an alien planet. Ye go through it and end up back in time. Thought of it the minute ye mentioned what ye knew of Craigh na Dun," he taps the papers in front of him.

"Oh. I don't know if that episode survived World War III. I've never seen it."

"World War III?"

"Nuclear Armageddon."

"Ah."

"That's when Humanity moved to the skies. Most of Earth's surface is uninhabitable now, and the majority of us live on Skycities. I was born and raised on Skycity 15. We call it New Oxford."

"Ah. I was wonderin' when Oxford would enter the picture. I recall seein' somethin' strange - like a mechanical mountain floating in the sky – during that vision we shared while dancin' tae Hotel California. Didnae ken what tae make of it at the time. Is that why the sea was all dead too?"

"Yes."

There is a long pause. I get up from his lap, and go back over to eat my breakfast.

"C'n. . . c'n ye tell me why ye thought ye ought tae leave, Sassenach?" he asks, pouring himself more coffee.

"Of course. I thought you didn't love me. And I thought I couldn't love anymore at all. There's a great deal more to it than that, of course, but mostly. . . I thought the war had broken me."

"Which war is this now?"

"World War IV."

"Ah."

"My parents died at the start of it. Frank died in the middle of it. So did Faith. And I was dead by the end of it. Except my body forgot to die. And then I got sick."

"Aye, I expect ye did."

"Yes. So my doctor sent me to recuperate on Cold Island 12. Scotland."

"So. . . Scotland survived Armageddon?"

"Well. . . in a way. Yes."

"Mmphm."

I can see a whole lifetime of questions rising in him, but he holds them back.

"And I came here, to get better, and to visit Lamb. Here, here. This very house. This very room, in fact."

He looks around, almost as though all of a sudden he can see the ghosts in this room too. . .

"An' that's why ye reacted as ye did?"

"Yes. So many ghosts, Jamie. It was a worse trigger than watching Willie die. And that was very, very bad."

"I take it. . . ye'ev seen death, then?"

The night the Spire fell comes back to me. . .

"It's more visceral than that, Jamie. I've met Him. Many times. Sometimes, he's not unkind. But he's always terrible."

"Sae that's why ye. . . let Willie go?"

"Yes. I could tell. Death leaves His mark."

"I expect He does. . ."

He takes a few bites of porridge, thinking hard.

Then he blinks, and looks up at me sharply, "Ye ken what happens at Culloden! Ye must! Do we win?"

I nod sadly, "Yes. . . and no."

His brows close in confusion, "What d'ye mean, Sassenach?"

"That's a tale and half, and I don't want to go into it right now. But for now I'll say. . . It is possible to win. . . and still be on the wrong side of history."

He nods, a look of bitter irony in his eyes, "Aye, I ken that. Only too well. Is it at least an honourable victory?"

"I have no idea, Jamie. War's war. The sorts of honours earned in war. . . only make it a little easier for the survivors to live with themselves, afterward. It still doesn't fix anything."

He nods, "Weel, let's give that the go-by, for now. So, ye came here, tae visit Lamb. . ."

"Yes. . . and you know what? That two tales and a half. Can we get back around to that later?"

He smiles indulgently, "A'course, Sassenach. Tell me more about these sky cities."

"Well, most of them are divided into townships – that's where my version of that idiom comes from – and a Core, and a Rim, and a Spire. I spent my last nine months camping on the Rim. Homeless. Peddling power-salvage next to black-market 'tillers - those are people with an alcohol distillery setup."

"Ah," he grins knowingly, "Sae that's where ye got yer hollow leg."

I chuckle, "Yeah. I can put away bootleg vodka with the best of them."

"Nae wonder ye damn near drank all of Leoch under the table the night of the concert."

"I met my match in that limoncello stuff, though." I shudder at the memory. "It was the first time I'd had jell-o shots, and if I have anything to say about it, it'll be my last."

"Probably a good idea, Sorcha. . ."

He trails off, thinking deeply again.

We finish our breakfast, and move to the couch, cuddling close under a huge blanket of tartan fleece.

"D'ye ken what's odd, a nighean?"

"The number three?"

He playfully smacks my shoulder, "I mean about yer story."

"Oh. Everything? Yeah, I'm going to go with everything is odd about it."

He snickers, "Aye, but other than that, I had the strangest feeling I'd heard some of it before. It sounded a bit like the auld tale of the Dunbonnet."

"Oh. Who's that?"

"Mysterious auld cuss, is who. They say he was a survivor of the '45, an' he came an' lived in a cave on Fraser land not far from Lallybroch. Camping – on the rim of society, as it were. Living on what he could scrounge an' hunt and get on the black market."

"It's not unlike what happened to me. But I bet stories like ours are a tenth-liter a dozen after any war."

"A tenth-liter? D'ye mean a dime?"

"Probably."

"Aye, and ye'er doubtless right. But I jus' remembered a bit of a doggerel verse about him, is all."

"Alright. Let's hear it."

"It's nothing spectacular. . . "The Dunbonnet's cap is a dusty gray, he comes for cakes on the first of May," an' then there's a whole lot of nonsense verses about rocks and the colours of the rainbow."

"Alright. . ."

"It's allus been implied that the second half of that meant he would come in tae town or summat for his birthday. Dinnae ken if that's exactly true, but. . . weel. It might be."

His voice goes very strange, "Sorcha – when were ye born?"

"May first. But that's not very odd, is it? It's more likely than you'd think, for two random people to have the same birthday."

"Aye. I ken that. But when were ye born? What year?"

"Oh. Twenty-two forty-fi-"

I break off, realizing.

"Forty five?"

"Oh. . ."

"Five hundred years on, Sorcha. From this Dunbonnet's birthday in the year the Risings began. Five hundred years exactly. To the very day, ye were born. That cannae be coincidence."

"Well. . . it can."

"Aye. Bu' I jus' cannae shake what Iona said about us havin' been reincarnated sae much we swapped souls."

"So. . . you think I am this Dunbonnet. . . reincarnated?"

He shakes his head, "Dinnae ken what I think. It's beyond me, Claire." He sighs, long and deep, "Why couldnae ye jus' have been an Auld One, Sorcha? T'would ha' been far easier tae understand."

I tap my fingernails together. "That's the thing, Jamie. I think I am an Old One. Too much has happened that confirms it. Two nights ago at Craigh na Dun was just the latest proof. So maybe. . . we're both right."

"But, the Dunbonnet wasnae an Auld One. . ."

"Do we know that?"

He blinks, brought up short, "Weel. . . no. We don't."

"And aren't we forgetting something?"

"What's that?"

"Well. . . If you and I are soulmates, and I am an Old One. . . then, by default almost. . . you must be an Old One too."