Unwarranted

Jamie opens the large envelope slowly, and extracts the paper within while staring dubiously at his uncle. Then he scans the paper, once, twice. . . he stops, and begins reading word for word, an expression of stunned disbelief overtaking his face. He soundlessly mouths some of the phrases, and then, with a jerk of either joy or disgust, he thrusts the paper at me.

I take it, more curious than anything, and begin to read it aloud.

"This is to signify. . ." my eyes read ahead, and I lose my voice. I glance up, and look rapidly between Jamie and Dougal for a wild second before returning to the paper in my hands, "This is to signify that the call for one James Fraser, Laird of Broch Tuarach, to appear before the Intermediate Judiciary Council for questioning in regards to a matter of murder has been deemed unwarranted. Any and all such legal petitions are hereby rescinded."

Then follows Sandringham's signature – large, flowery, and nearly illegible - and then a long list of other, smaller signatures, of, presumably, more minor dignitaries.

It isn't the sort of document that can be easily faked, and it wouldn't stand up to much if it was.

And given Jamie's reaction, and the light in Dougal's eyes. . .

It's genuine.

I look over at Dougal.

"You've gotten Jamie's warrant lifted."

He shakes his head.

"No. Auld Simon has."

"But. . ."

It isn't exactly a pardon, but that wasn't necessary anyway. It's more of a reprieve. And while it certainly doesn't offer him any further protection, it's still an enormous weight off Jamie's shoulders. And mine.

But. . . how?

And. . .

"But why?"

Dougal rolls his eyes, "It may – just – have escaped yer notice that we are a small group of men, out an' about on a political campaign – we arenae exactly goin' about fully equipped for a commando raid. We have enough stun-power tae defend ourselves from a modest Watch attack, aye, but if we were tae, say, try an' take down a guarded armored truck. . . weel. We'd need reinforcements, supplies, information, and a not an insignificant amount of funds, and t'would be nice if none of it could be traced back tae us, dinnae ye think? An' tha's no' evan mentioning the plannin' and the carryin' out. I contacted Castle Beaufort – a'course I did – d'ye think I carry night-vision goggles up my arse?"

"Weel a'least they'd be useful there," quips Jamie, smirking.

The tension breaks as both men chuckle loudly.

And all at once I understand. For everything I've done and said the past few months, it is I who has never imagined what things would be like if Dougal and I were allies, not him. He's had the advantage on me all day, because he's been treating me like an ally, and I've been treating him like he's still an enemy.

I quickly begin to re-evaluate everything that's happened today. . .

Everything. . .

"Auld Simon came through handsomely, I'm glad tae say. We stopped the truck, tied up the guards, got all the information it was carryin' out unharmed, an' got away wi' nae moor than minor bruising tae all involved. An' we made it all look like the Watch's work into the bargain."

"Tha's grand a'course," says Jamie, contemplatively, "But why did the Auld Fox evan care about such a thing? It was like pullin' teeth tae get him tae acknowledge my Lairdship when I got back from Paris – it's why Lallybroch still isnae officially registered as Clan land. He delayed things sae much I hadtae flee tae Leoch before I could get things finalized. Sae why did he give twa shites about my warrant now?" He looks at the letter of reprieve, "Especially tae the point of. . ."

Dougal waves a hand, "Ye'er right. He doesnae care about that, lad. But it's still only a down payment – he says he owes ye thirty men, too – an'. . . weel, I've only had a brief look at most of the information we got, an' I'd say he's valuing it lightly."

Jamie blinks, "What. . ."

"That truck was full tae the brim wi' security videos, lad. From across the Second and Third Highland Quarters, an' goin' back years. We've got a case against at least two dozen Peace Agents we hadnae a whisper against before, and rock solid evidence against at least thirteen more that were shaky at best up 'til now."

Legal cases. I forgot those until just now.

The Scots had tried to justify the Second Battle of Culloden, of course. They contended that every Peace Agent they lured and attacked had been previously tried and convicted in absentia, and they had the paperwork to prove it. . .

I've never realized before that their claim was the truth. The history books always said it was a lie.

History books written by the descendants, perhaps, of the very Englishmen the Scots had to build up their cases against. . .

"An' again – tha's grand," says Jamie, a little more than slightly frustrated, "But why does Auld Simon owe me for any of it?"

"Because there's at least twenty videos of Randall, man!" Dougal snaps, "No' just of what he did tae ye, but what he did tae half a dozen other puir souls too. An' he's the one who killed that guard the night Murtagh got ye out of lockup. D'ye ken how difficult it's been tae get anything on Black Jack? More folk have complained against him than the next five worst Peace Agents combined, and there's never a single shred of evidence against him beyond circumstantial and he-said/she-said!" Dougal grits his teeth in frustration, then relaxes a little and sits back, "An' if we'er tae use this evidence for Culloden, we cannae use it for ye personally. Sae it's only justice ye get yer freedom now. An' that's putting aside the fact that ye were the one who sifted through all the information an' found the truck's schedule in the first place. The Auld Fox did laugh a bit when I told him that. . . an' he positively reveled in calling up Sandringham an' forcin' him tae sign yer reprieve." Dougal grimaces, only half in amusement, "But that's Auld Simon for ye. . ."

"I've wondered about him, I mus' admit. It's reassuring tae ken he's one of us after all."

Dougal snorts into his whisky, and laughs aloud, "One of us? One of us? Lad, he is us. This whole kit an' boodle was his idea from the start! Culloden, the Underground, usin' the candidates tae get the message out tae all the smaller villages – all of it started in that gurt auld grey heid of his. He was the one who got most of the Chiefs on board, an' he's been bankrolling half their resistance operations inta the bargain. I thought ye kent that?"

Jamie shakes his head. "My mind has. . . been elsewhere, for most of these past four years, uncle."

Dougal gives a long pause, then nods at Jamie, almost in sympathy, "Aye. I ken." Then his voice perks up dramatically, "An' speaking of Sandringham, ye never did say how ye kent he would betray us."

Both men glance at me, but I am still deep in my own personal thoughts, and wave their looks away.

Jamie nods briefly at me, and takes up the narrative, "Jus' look at what Sandringham betraying us does for him, uncle. It turns the Underground inta a problem that will sort itself out – sae he doesnae havetae think about it more'n superficially. But, more importantly, letting Culloden go ahead turns the Peace Agents inta a problem that sorts itself out too. He doesnae havetae care what they get up to - we will swoop in and clean up after them anyway." He takes a sip of his whisky, and savours it a moment before continuing, "An' above all, it gives him an awful lot of money that he doesnae havetae explain tae anyone. The man would havetae be daft not tae betray us."

Dougal rolls his glass between his hands, "Unless. . . he were genuine?"

Jamie nods slowly, "Aye. That's a possibility. Or was. An' was only ever a very small one at any point, aye?"

Both men look at me again. I wave them away again.

"Soo what's yer plan then, lad?" Dougal says, gesturing at the letter of reprieve.

Jamie shrugs, "Dinnae ken, yet. There's Fergus tae consider. An' everyone at Lallybroch. An' our jobs at Leoch, not least of all. I'm certainly no' intendin' on jus' uprooting everyone an' everything all in a minute."

"Aye lad, very wise. Why don' ye take Murtagh an' one of the smaller cars an' go back tae Leoch taemorrow? We're jus' on the edge of MacKenzie land heer – ye c'n stop by a couple of villages, an' check up on a few things on yer way. Aye?"

"Aye."

Jamie is staring steadily at me.

Dougal is too.

I smile a little, amused. They are both so unused to me not taking part in the conversation. . .

Well then. . .

"Did you order Angus to complain about my lack of hand-to-hand training, or did you just order him to protect me during the scrum and hope for the best?"

Jamie's eyes go wide, but Dougal only grunts,

"Neither. I only asked Greg tae leave a dozen or so of his rowdiest men in the pub for a few hours longer than the rest, told my men I'd tan their hides if they started annythin', an' sat back an' waited tae see what ye'ed do when ye got there."

Now my eyes go wide, "Wait, wait. . . Greg?"

"Aye, Gregory MacDonald's an auld school friend of mine. We never thought we'd be runnin' for the same Council seat, but, here we are." He grins at my confused expression, "MacDonald is an enormous clan, Claire – it'd be utterly stupid tae try an' prevent personal friendships between all of them an' folk connected tae any clan they have a rivalry wi'. In fact, that's nevar been much of an impediment annyroad. Friendships, business partnerships, even marriages happen across feud lines all the time. It makes things terribly confusing, a'course, an' wretchedly complicated." He shrugs, "But tha's life."

I press a hand to my forehead, "But. . . regardless. . . the pub was a setup, yes?"

"Oh aye. Ye came up wi' some of the best jabs I've heard in a while tho'. Chicken nugget. Ha!" He laughs quietly for a bit, "They've all heard that one before, a'course, but I highly doubt they've evar heard it said with such perfect disdain. It was beautiful."

I squeeze my eyes tight for a second, "So that really was all part of the test?"

He shakes his head, "No, not part, Claire. That was the test. Standin' up tae Peace Agents in their own lair is one thing. Defending your Clan's honour in public is somethin' else." He puts up a hand to forestall any protest, "An' it doesnae actually mattar which Clan ye may choose tae endow wi' yer fealty at this point – I'm sayin' I needed tae ken if ye were a Scot. Gettin' tae assess ye hand-tae-hand was entirely fortuitous."

He pauses, and runs a finger along the rim of his glass.

"I've respected ye evar since ye refused tae use Hamish as a bargaining chip, Claire. Evan when my actions I said I didn't, I did, really. What I havenae done, is understood or trusted ye. An' ye demanded trust at the Devil's Spring. Understandin' could wait until now."

He finishes his drink with a long, slow sip.

"The only thing that truly changed that mornin' is I stopped thinkin' wi' my cock." He shrugs, "Once ye started threatening murder, I figured it was time. Sae here we are."

"And. . . and now you just. . . let us go?" I look at the patterns of light as they shine through the cut crystal of my glass, "You don't even want Jamie to be at the rally tomorrow night?"

Dougal looks at me solemnly, "D'ye think I need him, Banrigh-bhàn?"

That brings me up short.

"You. . . care what I think?"

"I do."

I lean back, surprised yet again. He does care. I can see the truth of it, in his eyes, in the strange little expression he has hovering around his mouth. And I can see more than just his spoken truth, as well.

He's cared about what I think from the first too.

Now, he cares how I feel.

Allies indeed. . .

"I. . . have every faith that from now on you'll be able to inspire your audience by yourself." I say, sincerely, "Every faith."

And I do. He's a better man now than I've ever known him to be before. That will come through in his speeches – I haven't the least doubt of it.

A wonderfully irrepressible spark of mischief glitters in his eyes, "A bit better at playing the long game than you thought, perhaps?"

Okay. I deserved that one.

"Well. . ." I smirk, "You're a beginner - not hopeless."

His eyes blaze a moment, but then he accepts it for what it is. An expert purposefully taking another expert down a notch or two, to show them the bigger picture, and how much work there is still to be done.

But we can do that work together now, and that makes all the difference. . .

Without another word, I finish my drink, wipe my mouth with my napkin, and rise. Jamie does too. I take his arm, nod respectfully at Dougal, and turn to go.

We're halfway to the door when Dougal calls after us.

"It wasnae only lust, Claire."

We stop, and turn to stare at him. He leans back in his chair, and puts his feet up.

"Nevar only that. An' ye'er smart enough tae realize it."

He nonchalantly pours himself another dram.

I blink, slightly stunned, "All I ever wanted was allegiance, Dougal. Working towards the same goal, or at least facing the same direction. Nothing else."

"Aye." He half-smiles at me, "Shame we couldnae be screwing while we were tho'. I like a lass who kens what she wants. In life, in whisky. . . an' in a shag," he shrugs a little, "Pity."

I grip Jamie's arm tightly. Heaven only knows what his reaction is going to be to that.

Well. . . that's not quite true.

I do know, fairly well.

I manage to almost entirely hide my wince.

I think.

"Not a very great pity. But. . ." I look at him meaningfully, "Thank you."

It's the thank you he demanded at our last confrontation, transformed into a byword between us.

He gives me a very small nod, with a knowing look in his eyes – a look which in practically any other context might well be called a bedroom look. It is extremely intimate, anyway, and entirely presumptuous. An outside observer could easily be forgiven for wondering why I am not taking wild offense at it this very minute.

But I know this man. I know his masks, I know his moods, I know his tricks and his tells. And I know who he is underneath them all, now. Even who he can be. Who he can become, if he tries. Hand-to-hand combat is the only place he has anything left to teach me.

Well, that and the intricacies of Clan rivalries. . .

But I know what he's trying to say with all this blunt, inept dirty talk, all this causal, ineffectual flirting. And what he's trying to do.

I take it all as meant.

Of course, Jamie probably won't. Can't. . .

As soon as we get back to our room, I'll have to explain it to him. . .

I give Dougal a curt nod, and we once more turn to go.

This time, he lets us leave.