The-Jacobites

The Rebel and the Rose: The Epilogue.

…and so, friends, we have reached the end! This is only wee, but it hints at Jamie and Claire’s future.

I still wanna say A MASSIVE thanks to @lenny9987 for being WOW. Thanks Len, you’re a genius and I’m very lucky to have had you look over this epic for me.

Happy Weekend all, and Salut! 

You can find the other chapters: HERE.



This is set about six months after their voyage from Wales to France and canny wee Murtagh has managed to seek out Claire’s uncle Lamb. The moral of this story is, always take a Murtagh. Adieu, folks…



Lambert had asked Jamie to accompany him through the vineyards, Claire had taken sick again in the morning and he needed to take the lad aside before he fretted himself into a hole.

“James, my boy. I know we haven’t been acquainted long, but you love my Claire, yes?”

Jamie scrunched his brow together in confusion. Of course he loved her? Had he not made it clear countless times. He scratched his head, nerves getting the better of him. Maybe Lambert Beauchamp didn’t approve of him, maybe this was the moment he would finally tell him it wasn’t to be.

“Aye, of course. I love her very much. Why do ye say so?”

“Ah, well. I fear you may have misread her situation somewhat. You’re a perceptive chap, but still naive in many things. You’re worried about her, she’s not sleeping and you’re suffering too. Do you know why?”

Jamie shook his head, she’d been sick on and off for weeks now. Him and Murtagh had no idea why, but they’d nursed her through it as best they could. After the stress of the past few weeks both were worried she’d fallen ill with some prison rot, or that her injuries weren’t as well healed as they appeared.

“It’s quite delicate you see. I have an understanding of a hand fast, your godfather, Mr Fraser, tells me he performed one for you and Claire. So technically you’re able to live as one. Well, this might cause you to…you know, marry her properly?” Jamie’s eyes met Lamb’s as he ran over the countless possibilities in his brain that could cause Claire’s uncle to suggest a wedding. His heart fluttered as hope surged through him.

“Ye approve o’ me and Claire then?” He mumbled, wanting to be sure he’d kent the correct meaning of it.

Lamb burst out in fits of laughter at this, bending over and holding his stomach as he wiped an amused tear from his eye.

“Approve? My dear boy! Anyone who is near to you for more that but a moment can see how right you are for each other. Who am I to stand in the way of true love?” He straightened then, a serious look taking over his usually placid features. “She’s been through enough, has Claire. You were the one to save her when I could not, James. I’ll be forever in your debt for that. Aside from that, though, I can see how deeply you’ve fallen for each other. I could never disapprove of that.”

Jamie breathed out a massive sigh of relief.

“So, ye ken why she’s sick? What do we do?” Jamie pressed, eager to be back if Lamb had means to help her.

“Do? Well, we wait. You’re to be a father, James.”

Jamie stopped dead. He could feel his heart pounding away in his chest, his lungs seemed painfully small as he gasped for breath. Lamb, who had continued walking unaware of Jamie’s sudden halt, turned to see where his son-in-law had gotten to. He smiled as he watched the young man take on board his news.

“I was worried that you hadn’t come to this conclusion yourself. I thought it best to bring you out here, alone.”

“You’re sure?” He whispered, his voice only audible as it caught on the breeze. Lamb could see a myriad of expressions pass through Jamie’s eyes. Hope, love, happiness…fear.

“I’m one hundred percent sure. She’s certainly with child.”

“Ah Dhia! A bairn. My bairn.” His eyes focused and unfocused as he contemplated what this would mean for them. A wee one of his own. He’d never thought such a thing were possible, especially as he readied his men for war only months before. His heart lightened as he pictured his Claire with a bonnie baby at her hip.

“Yes. Your very own. Now! This wedding I was thinking about, your uncle Jared wouldn’t be partial to lending us his house would he?”

Jamie smiled, the tears gathering in his eyes as he laughed and nodded. 

“Aye, aye. I think he just might be!”

FIN.

The Rebel and the Rose. Part Three. Chapter Four.

Part One.

Part Two.

Part Three: One, Two, Three.


Previously: 

“J-Jamie.” She nearly didn’t manage to speak at all. Her hands hid behind her back as she tried to stop herself from worrying at her wrists. “Have you done for the day?”“Aye. Would ye like to come for a ride wi’ me. There’s a place I’d like to show ye? If yer up to it.”


The local men had spoken of this small secret place and he and Murtagh had ridden out there to make sure it was safe before he’d asked Claire to accompany him. His heart had been light as he’d returned, his mission successful. But now, now that had been turned to dust in the wake of her confessions. He felt desolation creep up his spine.

“Yes. Of course.” She slipped out of the stall and walked slowly towards him, her legs felt as though they were filled with lead. As soon as she was close enough he held out his hand for her and she took it, a shaky breath leaving her lips as she did so. She could feel his anguish in that moment. Unwilling to admit he might have overheard anything she’d said she brushed it off, her mind scattered with so many different emotions that she couldn’t bear to deal with any more.

Jamie led her to his horse. As she followed, she thought of those final moments leaving her prison cell and how numb she felt. This was eerily similar. She felt like she was being led to the gallows.

They mounted in silence. He helped her up first, untied Donas and then pulled himself up. She sat behind him, her arms wrapped snugly around his waist. As they started off into the forest surrounding them she laid her head against the flat of his back and let her mind empty. She felt like a husk, a shell of a being, unable to find purchase where she needed to be. She’d accepted her fate and at the last minute been torn back into the living world but now she was stuck in this limbo like state.

She buried her nose into Jamie’s coat; the soft scent of water lingered but was overpowered by the pines that surrounded them. His subtle musk lay beneath that. She inhaled him greedily letting it soothe her as they rode on. Every now and then droplets of water would fall on her from the needles above, each one keeping her grounded in the present. Her thighs pressed snugly against his and she remembered the feel of his skin there, the bristly hairs on the tops of his legs tickling her. She smiled. Donas’ gentle sway rocked her into a daze as her heart started to lift. The deeper they trekked into the woods, the easier she felt. The feeling of sorrow leaving her with every step.

She felt the muscles of Jamie’s stomach tense as he pulled the giant black stallion to a halt. Helping her off, he held her chin between his fingers as he kissed her forehead. There was something off, he seemed nervous and distant. His eyes barely met hers as he handed her the reins.

“I just need to go…and, uh…relieve myself. I didna ken how far we’d come and me and Murtagh consumed a fair bit o’ fine whisky on our trip. Will ye wait here, just for a wee moment?” His voice sounded strange to her ears, flat and lifeless, not his usual self. She nodded back at him, trying to catch his eyes but failing. It almost felt as if he were saying goodbye.

“Yes, go Jamie.” Miraculously she kept her voice level, inside her heart was pounding. This is what she’d thought about, escaping, relieving him of his obligation to her. The leather straps of the reins rubbed together as she gripped at them painfully, the low level squeak that emanated from them pierced her ears.

He took her hands, pulled them to his lips and kissed each finger reverently before turning and walking into the forest. Sweat prickled at her brow. This was her chance, but her stomach flip-flopped. From the stables to this forest clearing had been cathartic for her, she’d hit rock bottom and somehow managed to cleanse herself of some of her demons. But now she was torn.



Jamie wandered away from Claire, unable to turn and look upon her. He’d said his farewell to her in the only way he knew how, now it was up to her. He trudged his way through the mossy undergrowth, the sticky leaves clinging to his kilt. He found a suitable tree and leant his weight against it, the bark scratching him through his clothes.

He bent his head back and looked up towards the canopy above, the birds flitted through the high reaching branches causing the sun to peek through the gaps their wings provided. He let the time pass, counting to five minutes before he allowed himself to even contemplate returning.

Taking a deep breath he pushed himself off the oak tree twisting to look back in the direction from which he’d first arrived. He couldn’t see Donas or Claire from this distance but he still wasn’t brave enough to step forward the few steps it would take to bring them into view.

He straightened his spine he stepped forward as quick as he could bring himself to walk. As he approached where he’d left Claire he could see Donas. His heart picked up pace in time with his feet as he rushed towards him. His eyes widened as he pushed through the last bush, Donas stood munching on a spot of grass, his reins tied off on a nearby branch. His heart plummeted, he turned around in a full circle his eyes darting from tree to tree across the clearing.

“Oh, Claire.” He stumbled backwards catching himself before he fell to his knees. He’d prepared himself for this, he’d given her the chance after all. But the reality of it twisted in his gut.

“You heard me in the barn.” The voice drifted up from alongside Donas, Jamie’s head whipped up and he struggled to his feet once more and dashed around his horse. She was sat just out of sight on a rock, her legs curled up against her chest. She looked so small.

“Yes.”

“…and you were willing to let me go?”

Jamie knelt down in front of her and took her frozen hands in his rubbing them to get her warm once more. She squeezed her eyes closed.

“Please, mo nighean donn. Look at me.” He pleaded, shifting himself closer. She took one large breath and did as he’d requested. “It isna that simple, aye?”

“It isn’t?” Her fingers twitched in his palm. “H-how much did you hear?”

“All of it.” He answered bluntly, trying to keep the worry out of his voice. The tears clung to Claire’s eyelashes as she blinked and rocked forward until her forehead met with his.

“Why? You left me here, why?” Her tone held no judgement, just curiosity. Jamie gulped and sucked the air through his teeth, his chest heavy.

“It’s my fault. If I hadna crashed into yer life, left ye to those…t-those bastards!” His hands tightened against hers as he shook with the force of his anger. “Through it all, even Murtagh taking ye away from it, ye didna have any choice. We stole ye away, brought ye here. I thought, in time, that ye would heal. When I heard yer words in the stables I kent what I had t’ do. It killed me to do it, Claire, ye have to know.”

He was openly sobbing now, the evidence of it running down his flushed cheeks.

“But I couldna keep ye if ye didna wish it.”

He dropped his head now so that it lay just over her bosom as he clenched her fists to his tear stained lips. She could feel his heated breath as he whispered something against her; she couldn’t quite make out the words.

She pulled one hand free and wrapped it at the base of his hairline, holding tight to his auburn curls. He kept her other hand close, tugging it until it rested over his heart. It was beating so fast that she panicked for a moment until she realised hers was running at the exact same pace.

He was so wrapped up in his grief that he failed to notice she’d been chanting the same sentence over and over. He lifted his head to see her muttering to herself.

“Claire…Claire, lass. What’s the matter?” He took her face in his hands, wiping the moisture from her cheeks.

“I should have gone, I was too selfish. Should have left, I…I couldn’t. I love you, but I’m too selfish to let you go. I’m sorry. Jamie, I’m sorry.” Her words all began to run together as she tried to push herself away from him.

“Dinna ye ever apologise for that! Claire, I love ye too. So much. It’s alright, we’re going to be alright. Yer wrong, ye should have stayed as ye have.” He plucked her off the rock now, cradling her against his chest as if she were a babe. Carrying her so carefully he brought her to the entrance of a nearby cave, its opening concealed by the limp branches of the willow tree that stood to the left of it.

She felt the damp warmth surround her immediately and lifted her head to see.

“W-where are we?”

“Some of the local men spoke of it, I wanted to bring ye here. It’s King Arthur’s cave, mo gràidh.” He placed her on her feet and removed his coat, placing it neatly on the floor near to the opening. “There’s a story of it, if ye would like to hear?”

Claire nodded as he reached up to run a lone finger across the top of her bodice. Her skin flamed where he touched her, the climate in the cave so different from the cool of the Welsh mountainside.

“The legend goes that,” he began to undo the laces that kept her stomacher in place, “one day on his travels he came across this wee spot. His men had walked far, over the mountains and through the valleys, and they were in desperate need of a place to rest, aye?”

Claire turned as he began to remove her skirts, letting him lead. The fabric dropped to the floor with a whoosh, followed swiftly by her corset and lastly her shift. She stood naked with her back to him, listening as he undressed himself. She felt his hand at her shoulder as he ran his palm down the skin of her arm until he reached her elbow. She turned back to face him.

“They remained here for nigh on a week, the legend goes, and when it came time for them to be parted from it, Arthur blessed the water wi’ his sword. The way it faces and how it’s covered keeps it warm all day and night, no matter the time of year. The spring kept hot by King Arthur’s wish. It’s a healing spring, ken?”

He took her hand and led her to the edge of the lapping water. The rocks held the temperature too and she could feel the soles of her feet warming. Her body was covered in a light sheen of dampness, the close heat of the cave soaking through her.

“Sit on the edge, Claire. Let yer feet rest in the pool.” He coaxed as he slid himself into the water and stood waiting. It wasn’t that deep, only covering his hips, enough that when she sat he stood eye to eye with her.

He took a small goblet from the side and filled it with the spring water before holding it up to her lips, she drank a few sips, the anguish from earlier forgotten as he urged her to drink. After he refilled the cup, but instead of drinking it he used it to cover her. First letting it run down her back, holding the lip at her shoulders and dragging it across. She closed her eyes and let her head loll forward until she was resting against his collarbone.

Once he’d finished bathing her he ran his hands over every inch of her. The water had an oily quality that acted as a sort of ointment. His hands slid of the insides of her thighs and she gasped at the feel of it.

“I love ye, my Claire. Let me make it better for ye, dinna hide from me anymore, aye? I can take the pain away for ye. I promise.” He spoke the words as a prayer against the moist warmth of her skin, as much skin as he could reach from this angle. His tongue drew patterns down her neck, down further to her navel until he reached the subtle rise of her hip bone.

She managed to force her eyes open, lulled as she was into this half dazed state. He looked like an Adonis in front of her, half covered in the blue black of the pool, the strong taut muscles of his back coated in fine oily droplets of water.

He stood, feeling her eyes on him and took a step back. He let his arms float at his side as he watched her admire him. She looked so alive, so beautiful. Sat with her legs spread as they were, her hands holding her up as her feet dipped below the water line. He ached to take her as she was, but he wouldn’t. Not yet.

“Jamie, come back to me.” She begged, her body arching towards him in submission. Her shoulders, no longer tensed, sagged further as the heat penetrated every inch of her. He only waited one heartbeat before taking her in his arms and pulling her deeper, sinking into the spring so only the tops of their shoulders showed.

Claire wrapped herself around Jamie and they floated in circles, letting the pain and suffering flow from both of them. He kept his feet on the bottom as he twirled her round, one hand firmly on her bottom and the other rubbing gently at her back. He mumbled more of her favourite Gaelic tales as he did so, this time stories of mothers and bairns—of a future he saw for them both.

In turn she whispered her love for him in the form of kisses along his neck. She wasn’t sure of his words but they stirred an almighty fluttering in her womb, a feeling that made her eyes water at the joy of it, a feeling that made her hips arch towards his in the dark unseen depths.



They lay together, legs locked, arms twined, for the longest time. Nose to nose they simply watched the other through hooded lids. Jamie was the first to break the silence, shifting a lock of Claire’s hair as he spoke.

“There’s something else I need to ask ye, Claire. It has to be soon, but I want ye to know how much I wish for it too.” He pulled her hand into his and kissed it softly.

“I want so verra badly for ye to marry me. Will ye have me, Claire?”

Her mouth went dry, her eyes wide as she held fast to his hand. A small smile lifted the corners of her lips as she shifted her body closer still to his. The onset of dusk bathed them in a pallid yellow light and his auburn hair seemed to spark and come alive in it as he brought her fingers to his mouth and kissed each one over and over. She took a breath.

“Yes, I’ll have you.”

10

Outlander is back, so it seems only fitting to do a Scottish themed FRIDAY FASHION FACT! Nothing is more instantly associated with Scotland than a tartan kilt. There are a lot of myths surrounding the history of this national fashion, so lets set the fact straight.

In about the 8th Century BCE, the pre-Celtic Hallstatt culture of central Europe created a simplistic check-patterned fabric. As the Celtic culture developed, so did their tartans, and when they spread to Scotland, their fabrics went with them. The earliest known tartan in Scotland was the 3rd century Falkirk Tartan, a simple gingham-like check pattern which is still very common today, particularly in menswear. The pattern took several more centuries to develop into what we now think of as tartan. It wasn’t until the late 16th Century that the pattern became popular across Scotland.

Many people believe that this is when clan tartans began. While this is incorrect, it is an understandable mistake. Towns and villages would have a very limited number of fabric makers, possibly just one, and these fabric makers would each create their own distinct tartans. Since families tended to stay in the same area for generation upon generation, they would wear the same few tartans. It was more a matter of limited access to different tartans, instead of “official” clan tartans. Additionally, tartans from the same region tended to have the same color scheme, due to the natural dyes available in those regions. Therefore, it was often possible to identify where a person came from based on the colors of their tartan.

The first big turning point in the history of tartan was when Scotland and England officially unified at the beginning of the 18th Century. There was some extremely bad blood between England and Scotland, to say the very least (which, evidenced by the recent election, still remains to this day), but the tension was amplified by the fact that Parliament had dethroned the Stuart House, and placed the Hanover House as monarchs. The Jacobites, who supported the Stuarts, rebelled repeatedly for decades in an attempt to restore the throne. The Jacobites and their supporters proudly sported tartan. In an attempt to squash their cause, the government instated the Dress Act of 1746, which banned tartan completely, with the exception of the British Highland Regiments’ uniforms. Eventually, for a variety of reasons, the Jacobite Rebellions ended, and with the persuasion of the Highland Society of London, the Dress Act was repealed in 1782.

The second big turning point for tartan was during the Romantic Era, beginning in the 1820s. It was dubbed Romantic for a reason, as the poets, novelists, and artists began romanticizing history. Sir Walter Scott wrote about the Jacobites, and King George IV visited Scotland, then had his portrait painted in full Highland Dress. Shortly before this time, in 1815, the Highland Society of London began to put together an official registration of clan tartans- the start of official clan tartans. Tartan officially became a craze when in 1848, Queen Victoria purchased Balmoral Castle. Scottish fashion swept the nation, and the pattern remains stylish to this day.

As for kilts, to put it very simply, they began in the 16th Century as a large piece of fabric draped over the shoulder. It was so long, that soon men began to wrap the long end around their waist. This was known as a “belted plaid.” It was often in tartan, but not always. Basically, the kilt was developed and perfected from there. The pleats were added to make the garment more polished, and less bulky. So sorry, Braveheart fans, but William Wallace never wore a kilt.

Want to learn more about the history of tartan and kilts? Check out these books:

Scottish National Dress and Tartan, by Stuart Reid

The Illustrated Encyclopedia of Tartan, by Iain Zaczek

Have a question about fashion history that you want answered in the next FRIDAY FASHION FACT? Just click the ASK button at the top of the page!

The Rebel and the Rose. Part 3. Chapter 6

It’s wedding night week! Thank you all for being so patient, and for all of your wonderful comments, I do read them all. Happy Weekend all…

…and major thanks to @outlandishchridhe for quickly editing this new bit that I randomly decided I needed to add in. Legend. As is @lenny9987 who did all the rest. Mwah.

Other parts found: HERE.


“Your turn.” She gasped, her fingers fumbling at the buckle of his belt. Claire was less practiced at disrobing a man, but after numerous attempts she finally got him out of his kilt. Jamie buried his head against her chest, his tongue begging to taste her, to have her beneath him once more. They’d promised each other that they wouldn’t lie together until they’d said those sacred vows, and now that they had he ached for her. Claire felt the same, her pulse was racing as they removed their final layers and gazed upon each other naked for the first time as husband and wife.


Claire was nervous, her heart thrumming in her chest faster than she even thought possible. Tipping her head to the side she blinked slowly, running her eyes over every uncovered inch of him.

“Do ye still wish to take me to yer bed, Mrs Fraser? Ye havena changed yer mind at seeing me bare as a bairn?” Jamie joked, taking one step towards her.

“Not a chance, Mr Fraser,” she whispered back, her tongue wetting her bottom lip as she spoke. It was a surprise she’d managed to speak at all, as dry as her mouth was.

Moving slowly, Jamie ran his fingers, gently, along the soft expanse of her neck, and up into her hair. The sound of his exposed feet echoed around the room as he leant in, meaning to kiss his bride.

Claire, however, smiled coyly and dipped her head.

“It’s like that, is it?” he teased, pulling her head back up as carefully as he was able before taking her lips against his. “I thought ye hadna changed yer mind,” he mumbled against her between nips.

“I haven’t,” she sighed, the taste of him coursing through her veins as she nuzzled her nose against his, “but it doesn’t mean I can’t make you work for it.”

Beginning a delicate dance, Jamie led Claire in the direction of the bed, running his free hand along her back, and down to cup her arse as they went.

The floorboards creaked in protest as the pair, intertwined as they were, crept slowly in the general direction of their bed. Jamie peeled an eye open, glancing over Claire’s shoulder as to steer them in the right direction.

“Is yer back still sore, mo nighean?” he asked, breathlessly, “I dinna want to hurt ye…”

“You won’t,” she returned, her voice barely a whisper in the calm quiet of the evening. “I don’t think you ever could, James Fraser.”

Now it was her turn to run a lone finger along the length of his side. His flesh was heated from the warmth emanating from the fire in the corner. Pliable and creamy, she could feel the tense set of muscle beneath skin.

Jamie waited patiently, watching under hooded lids as Claire re-explored every peak and trough. His skin prickled where she ran her hands, growing bolder now. A few times during her rehabilitation he’d woken, aching and needy, desperate to have her in his arms once more; eager to have her beneath him, writhing in pleasure. But up until now, she hadn’t been ready.

Once he’d turned her down, knowing how close to the edge she’d been at the time. Waking from her nightmares, she’d always sought him out, needing his close company to ease her back into the present. But as her touch had turned from the need of comfort to the need for physical affection, he’d stopped her. The first time, she’d fled from their quarters, tears streaming down her cheeks as she’d thought herself damaged goods. Murtagh had returned later, Claire in tow, and Jamie had sat down with her, alone, and explained his reasons. That hadn’t stopped her from trying again afterwards, but it had begun a healing process, one they needed to shatter and rebuild before they could reach this point.

“Come back to me, Jamie, please,” Claire begged, her voice barely audible as she ran her palm over his lower belly, the fine hairs there tickling her as she went. “I need you here with me. I need you, Jamie. Just you.”

“Aye,” he returned, taking her hand and placing it over his groin.

Claire gulped, her mouth suddenly filling with moisture at the feel of him against her palm. He was so very hot, the silky smoothness of him beneath her radiating such humidity that she immediately felt as if she might catch fire with it.

Jamie, his whole body ignited with lust, forged forward with their increased contact, twisting them onto the bed so that Claire was sat atop him now. Shocked by the sudden movement, she wrapped her arms under his armpits and gripped his shoulders as she slid her thighs either side of his, bringing them flush with one another.

“Ye do wi’ me as you wish, my Claire. I’m yours, and always will be, ken? Always.”

“Mhmm…” she mumbled, her chest vibrating with the noise of it, causing her back to arch forwards. Gasping, she held herself steady as her nipples ran across the coarse hairs of his chest, the sensation pulsed through her in the most desirous way and she clenched her legs in pleasure. “Oh God…” she whispered as she elevated her hips enough to bring him in line with her. She only needed to inch back down a tiny bit, and they’d be joined.

Jamie was drowning; half engrossed in lascivious thoughts, hoping and praying that Claire would move that final wee bit and take him inside her, half focused on his hammering heart. Not only was she only just recovering from her hideous physical assault, but they’d not really had the time, before that, to get to know one another intimately.

In a twist of fate (a fate that came in the guise of Murtagh Fitzgibbons Fraser), they’d be brought back together. Jamie had managed to pull Claire from the dark depths that had sucked her under after her swift rescue from the noose. But Jamie had another reason for his initial hesitance to initiate sexual contact with Claire. Moving his upper body forward, he managed to keep his arse still as he bent over to kiss her softly, pushing the thoughts of inadequacy aside.  

“I love you, Jamie. You saved me, you did. Don’t blame yourself, please. Just show me,” Claire spoke up, swivelling her hips in a move so ornate and delicate that Jamie could hardly believe she’d done it. His fingers twitched, his whole body vibrating as her words penetrated him to the core. He’d worked so hard to develop his skill of being unreadable, but their combined horror had bonded them in a way he couldn’t truly understand.

“I love ye too, Claire Fraser. Ye have my name, my clan, and the protection of my body. I wish I hadna had to prove that to ye so soon, but I’d gladly do it again. I’m wi’ ye now. You’re the light, Claire, dinna wait, aye? I want ye so badly…”

Claire smiled, sliding herself down, moulding them together, making them one and the same. Jamie shook as she pushed, his eyes squeezed shut as he zeroed in on the sensation of her heated flesh surround him.

“Oh…J-Jamie,” she cried out, her nails digging into the balmy skin of his shoulders. Their teeth collided as she thrust forward with her knees and hips, causing her to automatically fall towards his mouth. The wet sounds of their lips meeting hit her ears soon after her moan and she began to move faster, pushing herself higher and higher.

She was intoxicated, glowing and desperate for the throbbing ecstasy of the abyss that his pliant flesh afforded her. Memories of their first time flooded her subconscious, the rapturous bliss that saturated every fibre of her as he brought her to the brink over and over.

With his mouth.

With his body.

Jamie watched her through the same haze, his vision blurred as he panted into her open mouth, tasting her.

In the midst of the aphrodisia that coated them both, Jamie lay back, taking Claire with him. With one twitch of her hips, she rolled over, bringing Jamie over her as she slipped her hands downwards, placing them over the squishy sinews of his bottom. Rearing up on his knees, Jamie took back control at her behest, brushing his forehead against hers as they rode the waves of carnal pleasure together, both taking comfort in the steady heat of the other.

“Are ye…?” Jamie sighed, feeling the beginnings of his orgasm as it palpated in the bases of his feet, the muscles in his legs flexing as they tried to contain it.

“Y-yes, just keep going, Jamie. N-not long. I’m…it’s…” Claire could no longer speak as her chin rose, her head flopping backwards as a blinding flash of avidity lit her every nerve. Her knees drew up, her thighs clenching tighter as she squeaked and whimpered, trying her best to contain her keening - all to no avail, of course.

Jaggedly inhaling as much air as possible, the clouds that covered Claire began to dissipate as she slowly regained feeling throughout her body, just in time to watch Jamie shatter above her.

Gripping his fingers into the bedlinens, Jamie held steady, waiting for Claire to reawaken before allowing himself to roll his hips for the final time. He felt her fall, her flesh pulsating around his as she did. It had taken all of his effort not to simply let go at the same time, but he wanted to watch her. He wanted to see the emotions flit across her face as he brought her to her peak.

Now, as she opened her eyes and gazed up at him, a drowsy smile plastered over her face, Jamie finally let himself go.


Sweat covered them head to toe and Jamie pulled the thick fur over him and Claire. Wiping the damp hair from her her brow, he kissed her lightly, sighing in contentment.

Mo chridhe, Tha gaol agam ort…” he whispered, his breath causing her hair to flutter around her head like a dark brown halo.

“What does that mean?” Claire returned, sleep hovering on the periphery as she pried her eyes open. The gentle puffs of air that floated over her face felt nice as she grinned and shifted her head closer still.

“It means, I love ye, Claire.”

“…and mo chr…” she began, unable to finish the unpronounceable word.

“Ach,” Jamie chuckled, running his nose against hers before kissing her softly, “mo chridhe, that means my heart.”

“Will you teach me?” She asked, yawning as she nuzzled into him, burying her face against his neck as she burrowed down, seeking any warmth he was prepared to lend to her. “How to speak in Gaelic. I want to learn.”

“Ye ha’ my word, Claire. Of course I’ll teach ye.”

The wee puffs of her breath indicated to Jamie that she’d fallen asleep during his response, and his lips lifted in a slight smile as he blinked, sleepily and then, finally, closed his eyes and joined her in slumber.

Muttering ‘Tha gaol agam ort, a ghràdh…” Jamie drifted off, the start of the rain pattering against the windowpane lulling him into a calm, quiet slumber.

“I love you too, Jamie Fraser.” Claire sighed, her dreams filled with him and their sweet little wedding, her heart finally free of the shackles she’d been slowly dismantling. “I love you so much.

8

Claire in every episode of Outlander1x11 The Devil’s Mark

This mark is is called a vaccine, and you’ve never heard of it. No one here has. But it prevents me from contracting the disease. I know about Jack Randall because I was told about him. I know the day he was born, and I know the day he will die, and I know that he works for the Duke of Sandringham because my husband told me about it. I know about the Bonny Prince and the Jacobites and their doomed cause. I know what’s going to happen to the Scots. I know all of this because, because I’m from the future. I was born on October the 20th in the year 1918. That’s 200 years from now. Do you hear me? Do you hear me? I hear you.

The Rebel and the Rose. Part 3. Chapter 5.

Short and sweet this week *cough* because I want to add something and haven’t had the chance *cough*.

Happy Friday all!

Props to the wonderful @lenny9987 for her epic beta’ing!

Other parts: HERE.


Claire sat in the window seat looking out over the Welsh valleys. The mist was starting to roll in off the mountains shrouding the trees in a fine green moisture, it made the forest glow.

“Jamie wants ye to have this, lass.” She turned to the door to see Murtagh stood with a mass of white fabric in his arms.

“Oh, alright. What is it?” He brought it over to her and set it upon the bed.

“A dress. Will ye wear it? I’m sorry we didna have much time to get this organised. The lad is fair upset about it, he really wanted to give ye a proper ceremony. We couldna manage that, under the circumstances, but we did manage to get this for ye.” He pulled the thin cover off to reveal the most beautiful gown, it wasn’t white as she’d originally thought but cream with sewn pink and red flowers littered through the skirts. She gasped as Murtagh held it up for her to see.

“It’s…something else. I love it. Where did you get it?”

“Jamie and I found a lassie one village over, it was meant for a family wedding, but the puir lass perished before the big day. Never worn. So he brought it from her. Ye’ll wear it then?”

“Yes! Of course I will.”

“Weel, good then. I’ll have the tavern girls come and help ye into it.”

As the door closed behind him, Claire stood to admire the dress that Jamie had gone to so much effort to find. She knew that he was unhappy about their rushed nuptials. He’d made no secret of the fact. He wanted to give her a lavish wedding, one he thought she deserved. At this point she just wanted to be married to him.

She held her stomach as she waited, her bruises were finally starting to fade and the aches had begun to subside. She hoped that the corset wouldn’t push against her ribs too much, but she knew Jamie would have thought of that.

A careful knock sounded at the door and the women from down in the bar swarmed around her. The next few hours were a whirlwind of activity, the ladies fussed and pulled at Claire until she was safely into the dress. They were careful not to tie the laces too tight, the scars on her back were slowly starting to scab over but they were still liable to bleed now and again.

Once they were finished she was brought in front of the long mirror. What she saw caused tears to spring to her eyes. The cream gown swept to the floor, the floral pattern skimming down one side. It started with a few roses here and there and ended with a mixture of blooms all intertwined along the base.

The ladies, all smiling, tittered around her speaking only in Welsh but she got the feeling it was all positive. They left her alone then, back to their chores no doubt. She couldn’t help but run her hands over the soft fabric. In her hand she clutched the one object she’d managed to salvage from her apartment. During their escape from the church they had passed by. She has asked Murtagh if he wouldn’t mind going back for one thing. He’d very kindly obliged and she’d sent him in with strict instructions. It was a massive risk, but one they had both been willing to take. Now she was delighted that it would pay off. She held it in her hands, the weight of it pressing down on her palms. It wouldn’t be an issue for Jamie, him being as strong as he was. Jamie had given up so much for her, he’d gone to so much effort to keep her safe and now she had something to give back.

Tentatively Murtagh pushed the door open. He kent the job was done but he didn’t want to scare Claire should she be lost in her own thoughts. As it was she was sat on the small double bed, her hands on her gift, her eyes locked on the door.

“Are ye ready, Claire?” She smiled up at him, her eyes alight with joy.

“Yes, I…you know you fetched that from the house. Could you possibly give it to Jamie?”

“I dinna think so, Claire. Ye should gi’ it to him yerself. It’s yer present after all.” Murtagh looked perplexed as Claire smiled nervously over at him.

“Y-yes, I should. I just thought. Shouldn’t he have it for the ceremony?”

“Ach. Aye, lass. Usually. But ye ken this is a wee bit…different. He will want it t’ come from ye.” He winked over at her as he offered her his hand. “I’m ready to escort ye to yer groom, mistress.” He bowed formally causing Claire to chuckle as she stood.

The walk down the narrow staircase was slow as Claire hiked her dress up and stepped carefully. Murtagh held faithfully onto her, knowing he’d have to hold her up. She had no shoes on her feet but she wasn’t worried, the bare wood against her toes grounded her as she walked into the main tavern.

Jamie stood side on, watching her out of the corner of his eye, she could see as he caught her and stood straighter, his hands fiddling at his belt. Somehow he’d managed to find a beautiful deep blue coat and his kilt had been cleaned meticulously for the occasion. He looked simply stunning and she held her breath for the entire walk towards him.

Once they were finally stood side by side Claire turned to him, her hand gripping tightly at her gift, her heart thudding heavily in her chest.

“I have something for you, Jamie. If you’ll have it?”

He twisted to face her as he ran his fingers along the length of her chin. “Aye, Claire. I’ll take anything ye chose to gi’ to me.” Taking one step back, he gazed across at her as she brought the item up for him to view. His eyes went wide as he caught the glint of silver in her palms.

“This was my uncle’s, something a friend gave to him as a thank you on his first trip into the highlands. I couldn’t bear to see it lost, and I knew it was the perfect item to pass on to you.”

“Claire, lassie, it’s…I have no words, of course I’ll have it. Thank ye.” The hilt of the small dagger was inlaid with the most intricate filigree pattern, it shone bright silver in the dim firelight of the tap house. The case for the blade was fashioned from old wood, the carvings on it worn with use but still visible in certain lights. A sghian dhu, an old one at that. It was probably an heirloom, worth quite a bit. His hands shook as he attached it proudly onto his belt. 


The ceremony was short, Jamie and Claire refused to take their eyes off each other as Murtagh performed the pagan blood vow and wrapped their joined wounds with a small piece of clean fabric. Claire followed Jamie’s lead, her stunted Gaelic words only endearing her more to the two Scots. Jamie’s heart swelled with pride at her efforts, and he vowed to teach her properly once they reached France, and, God willing, someday their bairns.


Claire flopped wordlessly onto the bed, their last night in this room before they travelled to the coast to set sail. From there Murtagh would go to Scotland to return Jamie’s men to their homes and he’d promised to meet them on the outskirts of Paris as soon as he could. Jamie kent it would be a long journey for Claire, and a stressful one at that. He had yet to tell her of his seasickness, afraid that she wouldn’t be strong enough yet to take care of him as they crossed the sea.

“Come here, Jamie. Help me out of this dress.” She held her hand out to him, beckoning him over. He shrugged out of his coat, placed it neatly over the chair and took three great big steps to her side. As their fingers met he calmed; they’d survived much worse, he wouldn’t be stunted by a wee boat and some water.

“Ye look fair beautiful in that, mo nighean. I havena seen a more stunning bride in my life, and I’m sae glad that yer mine.” Their lips met in an instant, their kiss long and languorous as he knelt in front of her, his fingers deftly reaching around to undo the carefully tied laces of her bodice. In no time at all he had her down to her shift, his hands roaming over the thin fabric, feeling her glowing warmth.

“Your turn.” She gasped, her fingers fumbling at the buckle of his belt. Claire was less practiced at disrobing a man, but after numerous attempts she finally got him out of his kilt. Jamie buried his head against her chest, his tongue begging to taste her, to have her beneath him once more. They’d promised each other that they wouldn’t lie together until they’d said those sacred vows, and now that they had he ached for her. Claire felt the same, her pulse was racing as they removed their final layers and gazed upon each other naked for the first time as husband and wife.

…TBC…wink.

‘And I don’t think you’re an atheist, either. True atheists are rare.’

‘Really? On the contrary, I’d have said that most people in the Western world are atheists.’

‘Only on the surface, it seems to me. The only true atheists I’ve ever met were people in revolt. It wasn’t enough for them to coldly deny the existence of God – they had to refuse it, like Bakunin: “Even if God existed, it would be necessary to abolish Him.” They were atheists like Kirilov in The Possessed. They rejected God because they wanted to put man in his place. They were humanists, with lofty ideas about human liberty, human dignity. I don’t suppose you recognize yourself in this description.’

No, in fact, I didn’t; even the word humanism made me want to vomit, but that might have been the canapés. I’d overdone it on the canapés. I took another glass of the Meursault to settle my stomach.

Michel Houellebecq, Soumission

The Rebel and the Rose. Part 3. Chapter 7.

This, dear friends, is the last chapter. Sigh. I do have an epilogue to come and then two outtakes that I wrote but didn’t fit…but here’s to the end for our intrepid adventurers. CHEERS!

MEGA THANKS, as always, to @lenny9987 for editing this beast for me, you’re a superstar and I’m eternally grateful.

All other parts found: HERE.




As dawn broke and the deep orange glow filtered through the small window of the temporary suite, the lovers awoke. Their bones ached having fallen asleep on the floor, lost in the haze of lust and pleasure and the tang of the other on their mouths. Claire’s legs throbbed as Jamie pulled her atop him and clenched her arse in both of his hands. She sighed as he took her, shaking and desperate, the sound of their breathy moans filling the dusky room.

Claire bit against Jamie’s lip as she came to him, her arms shaking where they held her over him. He couldn’t help but cry out as he joined her, his hips rising off the floor one final time. They lay, sweaty and sated, as long as they were able before Murtagh came pounding on the door.

“Come on, ye pair of fiends! We ha’ a ship to catch!” There was an unmistakable air of mockery in his tone, unable to contain the humour he tried desperately to mask with impatience. “I’m sure ye’ve had yer fill of each other by now. Put the lassie down and get dressed, Jamie lad.”

They chuckled as they dressed each other, peppering kisses across each inch of skin they covered with material, making the job twice as long as it should have been. Murtagh was tapping his foot at the bottom of the stairs as the newlyweds descended.

“Ach! Finally, I thought I was going to ha’ to pour water over the both of ye. Glad to see ye suitably dressed.” He teased, a small smile gracing his face through the tirade. Claire noticed him pat Jamie subtly on the back as she went to collect them some breakfast. The trip to the coast would be a short one, but she knew Jamie wasn’t looking forward to their crossing. Neither was she. She’d been on boats before, and never had she seen a trouble-free trip. Still, they had each other now, and that was all that mattered.

Once suitably fed, Murtagh led the horses round, they mounted and were off without so much as a goodbye to their kind Welsh hosts, it being too early for most of them to be up and about. Especially after such a leery night. The few stable maids that were bobbing about did give them a nervous wave as the group departed. Jamie was sure with all of the drama surrounding their arrival that they weren’t all that sad to see them go.

Claire still didn’t feel up to riding alone, so Jamie opted to have her close to him, something that he didn’t really mind. The entire ride he spent admiring the way the movement caused them to slide together, her arse wedged tightly between his thighs. The vast Welsh countryside passed by as the galloped towards the closest port, hoping to make it as soon as possible.

As the daylight dwindled they caught their first glimpse of the sea. They halted for a moment to make sure each was prepared. Murtagh would lead, securing their passage so that Jamie and Claire could remain hidden for as long as possible. They weren’t too worried about them being recognised, but it was always worth being vigilant. Jamie helped Claire to dismount as his godfather disappeared off into the main city. Sitting away from the main road, just beyond the tree line, they awaited his return.

“I’m sorry I dinna have a ring for ye, Claire. But I promise as soon as I’m able, I’ll get ye one.” He took her right hand in his and rubbed her ring finger lovingly, his eyes soft as he kissed it over and over.

“I don’t need jewellery, Jamie. I just need you. So long as we’re together, all is right with the world.” She ran her free hand through his tousled curls as he lay his head in her lap. The smell of cooked meat lingered in the air, the houses close by all clearing up from their evening meals. Claire’s stomach growled noisily and Jamie laughed, neither had eaten since breakfast and it was painfully obvious how hungry they both were.

“Hopefully, once Murtagh has us aboard, I’ll be able to go in search of some bread for ye. Maybe some honey if we’re lucky!” He said, nuzzling his nose into the fabric of her skirts, though he kent that for him, eating before sailing would be a bad idea. Best to get a wee bit of good whisky inside him instead.

As if reading his mind she pulled a flask from her pocket and dangled it in front of his face, his hand pushing against her knee as he sat up and smiled across at her. “Do you mean a wee dram, my lad?” She mocked, her faux Scottish accent making him belly-laugh.

“Aye, I do Claire. We’ll make a Scot out of ye yet!”

“Murtagh gave it to me before, when he took me from the church. I hadn’t much stomach for it then, but I kept it. As a keepsake. I’ll never forget what he did for me –for us. And I’ll never forget what you did for me either.” She sighed, her hands trembling as she thought back over those terrible months locked away. “I love you, Jamie. Not just because of what you did, before that. For your bravery, your strength, your loyalty. I was angry at you for such a long time, especially after you left, but w-what happened made me see – they could’ve done anything they liked to me, but I would never have given you up. Ever. And I know that’s how you felt about your men.”

He’d picked her up and held her to his chest almost without realising, her sweaty palms now clinging to the front of his shirt. He scrunched his eyes shut at the image of her bound, beaten and alone. He kent that all too well. The abject misery, the fear, the hopelessness. Yet she’d never lost faith in her love of him, and that’s what had kept her strong under the most devastating circumstances. His heart swelled at the thought, and he clung to her almost as hard as she clung to him.

“I’m sorry you can’t return to them.”

“No, a gráidh! Dinna be sorry, please. Murtagh was right when he told me I was a daft fool. Aye, they’re my men, and I should be there to lead them. Whether that be into battle or home, but none of that comes close to how much I need ye—how much I’ll always need you. I was away from ye for those months and yet I held you in my heart. Ye never left me, as I never left you.”

She wiped the few stray tears from her cheeks as she kissed the exposed part of his chest, his stock having been left aside during their quick dressing. She felt him swallow, the tiny hairs along his neck tickling her nose.

“I love ye, Claire, I’ll ne'er let ye out of my sight again, do ye hear?” She heard the humour in his voice and snorted.

“Fat chance, Mr Fraser. You’ll have to at some point.”

“Just ye watch me, Mrs Fraser!” He placed a kiss on the crown of her head and wrapped his arms more snuggly around her, both were quiet now, the wee insects making their presence known as the night drew in.

Eventually Murtagh found them once more, curled up against the base of a tree, locked in a tight embrace.

“You pair are making me sick! All this –love–. Time to get ye away though, then I can finally get back t’ some real men, aye!” He gave Jamie’s boot a swift kick, causing them both to jump before gathering their wits.

“Dinna jest, Murtagh. You’ll miss us when we’re gone.”

They kept up their japes until they all reached the edge of the city where Murtagh left the horses, safe for his return, and led them soundlessly to the port. Being well into the night the streets were relatively quiet, with only the odd drunken sailor lumbering by. Claire chose to say a quick goodbye to Murtagh, a peck on the cheek and a ‘thank you’. She’d never been good at leaving people behind and she reasoned that they would see him again soon.

Jamie took his time, making sure his godfather kent all of their arrangements.

“Murtagh, just see them safe, aye? Then make yer way back to us. I need ye.”

“Dinna fash, Jamie. But I dinna think ye should go all the way to Paris, just the pair of ye. Wait in Le Havre, we’ll find each other easier that way, then we can travel on together. I’ve left ye enough coin to seek refuge there for a time. Speak to Jared, and get yerselves settled. I willna be long. Alright?”

“Aye, alright.” With one hug, Murtagh was off into the darkness, leaving Jamie alone on the gangplank. He took one look at the sky, sent a silent prayer and made his way to meet Claire.

As he made it to her side he grasped her hand tight, pulling her into him as the ship hoisted its sails, pulled up its anchor and began its voyage. They both managed to survive their exit from the harbour, watching as the lights from the Welsh village dimmed, flickered and disappeared from the horizon. The sea was eerily quiet, at any other moment it might have seemed spooky, but to Jamie and Claire it signalled peace.

He’d crashed into her life all those months ago and since then they’d weathered an increasingly dark and powerful storm only to come out the other side stronger than ever. A new beginning wouldn’t be easy, but they had each other, mind, body and soul. They turned at the same time, him bending a little as she leaned up in her tiptoes, their noses touching as they whispered their almost silent 'I love you’s’ into the inky blackness, the deck rising and falling with the swell as they journeyed towards a bright future, as one.

{FIN}

blame

This is one of the few - and very rare - passages where Jamie completely lets his guard down and shares just exactly what supporting the Bonnie Prince - and the resulting 20 years of his life - has cost him.

And it’s absolutely extraordinary that he does so with someone who’s not Claire. Remember, at this point Jamie and Claire have been reunited for 2 days. She is painfully aware that she has no concept of just how much he has gone through during their decades apart.

But who else would Jamie expose his soul to than Ian?

And how deeply does this wound everyone involved?


Ian whirled back to face Jamie.

“Damn you!” he said violently. “Damn ye for a reckless, harebrained fool, Jamie Fraser! First the Jacobites, and now this!”

Jamie had flushed up at once at Ian’s words, and his face grew darker at this.

“Am I to blame for Charles Stuart?” he said. His eyes flashed angrily and he set his teacup down with a thump that sloshed tea and whisky over the polished tabletop.

“Did I not try all I could to stop the wee fool? Did I not give up everything in that fight — everything, Ian! My land, my freedom, my wife — to try to save us all?” He glanced at me briefly as he spoke, and I caught one very small quick glimpse of just what the last twenty years had cost him.

He turned back to Ian, his brows lowering as he went on, voice growing hard.

“And as for what I’ve cost your family — what have ye profited, Ian? Lallybroch belongs to wee James now, no? To your son, not mine!”

Ian flinched at that. “I never asked—” he began.

“No, ye didn’t. I’m no accusing ye, for God’s sake! But the fact’s there — Lallybroch’s no mine anymore, is it? My father left it to me, and I cared for it as best I could — took care o’ the land and the tenants — and ye helped me, Ian.” His voice softened a bit. “I couldna have managed without you and Jenny. I dinna begrudge deeding it to Young Jamie — it had to be done. But still…” He turned away for a moment, head bowed, broad shoulders knotted tight beneath the linen of his shirt.