Dear Wonderful Mods over here at Imagine.... I am an Outlander Fanfic junkie....I likely need a twelve step program...I stopped reading actual books (of which I used to be an avid reader) and have read nothing but Outlander Fanfic for the last year. It's what I look forward to most very day.... I also like to reread some of the older stuff. I have been desperately trying to find an older fic (can't remember the title or author)... Jamie takes Claire to the stones. 1/2
second part pf question…. they land back in 1743 and try to make the good stuff happen ie: end up married etc., but not the bad stuff. no Wentworth, no losing Faith. Meanwhile at Leoch Claire orders a beautiful sword made for Jamie from a visiting Irish swordmaker. Jealous Jamie thinks C’s spending too much time with Irishman etc… Please! Does anyone know the title to this fic and the author??? Desperate! Please and Thank you all!!!
MOD Note: None of us here at Imagone can place this, so sorry Weesinginglassie. But have some CoC as a soothe for your fanfiction addiction itch. Hope this he helps <3
Chain of Command - Part 4
It happened very gradually, the steady increase in her size. For a while she managed to hide it effectively with just her skirts and tighter corsets. But soon it became obvious that she was going to have to procure other methods for keeping her pregnancy quiet.
Her time at Lallybroch since her brief incarceration in Inverness had been heavily guarded. Never before had Mama Crook and Brian Fraser been so intent on keeping Claire close to hand.
She’d been kept away from any activities where she was required to leave the house for more than a few moments and her duties in the kitchens had been increased tenfold.
She was under house arrest and she knew it.
Having broken the trust of her adoptive mother, Claire didn’t argue about this silent punishment but it was making her state harder and harder to conceal.
Slamming the book shut, Claire threw the heavy pages onto the floor heaving out a massive sigh as desperation took over.
“I made a vow to keep you safe, and I mean to keep that promise.” She sighed, wrapping the thick cotton around her middle to try and mute the growing swell of her belly.
She had read many pages of interesting advice on pregnancy and care of an unborn baby - but none helped her in the art of keeping it a secret.
Her forays into the underworld of abortion, even as short lived as it had been, had made her incredibly aware of the gift she had growing within her. Guilt also gripped her. She’d come too close to making a disastrous decision and the implications of that made Claire even more determined to do the best for her child - no matter what.
The bairn was precious. Not only was it a part of her, but an extension of her secret love for Jamie. Whatever happened come the birth, Claire would fight with everything she had to raise the baby. Even if that meant losing her position with the Frasers.
As the seasons turned, the calm quiet at Broch Tuarach broke. The arrival of the MacKenzie party brought a hive of activity to Lallybroch. Ellen’s brothers, Collum and Dougal entered like a tour de force, bringing with them a few of their close relatives. It meant that Claire was snowed under with tasks - from sewing Brian’s best shirts to a constant barrage of cooking and cleaning.
Most of these activities, Claire could cope with. But one unwelcome guest filled her with unknown dread.
Laoghaire MacKenzie was a petite blonde lassie with a wide smile. Given her new house bound status, Claire could only watch through the dusty windows of the big house as the young girl followed Jamie around like a little lost puppy. She watched through wide whisky eyes as Mistress Laoghaire batted her large blue ones, flashing wide toothy smiles and adorning Jamie with sly touches here and there.
Alone in the dusk of the MacKenzie’s first week in the house, Claire slid beneath her well worn sheets, melancholia encasing her. She’d spent the day casting sorrowful glances at Jamie and Laoghaire as the pair had lunged horses in the pastures closest to the kitchen.
Claire had snuck out for an hour, excusing herself to pick herbs in the front garden but the sight of them laughing and joking together had twisted her gut and she’d rushed back inside as quickly as possible, averting her gaze from the action.
“Maybe she’s the one,” Claire sobbed, her hands shaking as they rested on her bloated abdomen, “maybe she’s who he is promised to.”
The babe was more active now, the butterflies morphing into something infinitely more noticeable. As if her unborn sensed her despair, the distinctive feeling of a palm pressed against the inside of her womb.
Holding back a sob, Claire mimicked the motion, trying to capture the hand of her baby. “Maybe,” she whispered, defeat lacing her tone, “m-maybe she’s the one he’ll marry.”
It didn’t take long for Claire to fall into a restless sleep. She tossed and turned, her toes clenching as she dreamed of what her life might be like in only a few months time.
The subtle tang of whisky invaded her senses as she curled her hand around something firm and warm, its human-like heat almost bringing her round. It wasn’t until soft lips touched hers that she jerked awake.
“Hush, Claire,” Jamie soothed, his face a blur in the dark chambers, “‘tis only me…I havena seen ye in so long, a ghraidh…” his voice held such intense longing that Claire felt bad for thinking he was anything less that committed to her. Flashes of his week with the MacKenzie’s, though, appeared before her eyes reminding her in an instant why she had a right to be afraid.
“You know I couldn’t come and find you,” she whispered, her lips seeking his as she felt his breath waft over her face, “Mama Crook has been keeping me busy.”
Jamie wasn’t blind. He had noticed the almost exasperatingly close eye Mrs Crook had been keeping on Claire. Something had happened on their trip to Inverness, he knew that much. But his Da was being annoyingly quiet on the matter.
“That’s why I had to come and see you,” he mumbled, ignoring the need to ask the question. He had a feeling Claire would be equally tight lipped about it. “I’ve missed ye.”
Wrapping her hand around the back of his neck, Claire brought him closer, being careful not to expose her stomach to him - lest he notice the newly formed bump that sat in place of her usually flat belly.
“I’ve missed you too,” Claire replied, unable to hold back. “So much, b-but I know you have *duties* to attend to. I know I can’t monopolise all of your time.”
“Yes, mo nighean donn, ye can,” he interrupted, keen to ensure she knew how much he had needed her close by his side. “I’ve had t’ babysit Collum’s niece the whole week. Ye have *no* idea how infuriating the lassie is!”
Smiling, Claire immediately felt mean for being glad that he hadn’t entirely _liked_ Laoghaire’s company. The fact that he never used her name in conversation made her smile all the wider.
“Go on…” Claire begged, tipping her head to the side as she awaited a fresh kiss, “tell me what annoyed you so.”
Chuckling, Jamie ran a lone finger across Claire’s heated brow as he nudged his nose against hers. “Weel, for a start she doesna hush. She talks nonstop about the most absurd things. Baubles, trinkets and shiny things that I have no interest in.”
“But she helped you with the mares the other day, she seemed invested in that,” Claire probed, her heart lightening significantly as Jamie’s tale went on.
“Aye, she wa’ there alright, but she wasna interested in that actual job of it. The whole time I couldna help but wish it had been you out there wi’ me. You’re helpful!”
“I recall last time,” Claire laughed, energised by this turn of events, “you told me that I was a liability with the horses!”
“Ha!” Jamie scoffed, rolling his eyes in the dim blackness, “well now I know better, don’t I.”
“Good to know,” Claire returned, snuggling against Jamie’s neck as the birds began to tweet outside. Morning was coming.
Moving his hand gently down her chin, along her neck and over her collarbone, Jamie made to sneak his fingers beneath Claire’s bedsheets - needing to feel her, desperately seeking her warmth.
Claire’s heart stopped, a deep pounding rattling her bones as she hastily grabbed Jamie, ceasing his movements completely. “Not now, we can’t –not enough time,” she whispered, her mouth going instantly dry.
“Aye,” Jamie replied breathlessly, “I ken.”
She could tell that he was disappointed, and so was she. Even here, alone and cocooned in the dark of her bedroom she hadn’t the strength to tell him. Looking him deep in the eyes, she noticed the pure innocence that radiated from him. She felt a bolt of lightning shoot through her and – in that moment – she almost told him. Almost.
But the cuckoo clock chimed upstairs, the ding of it reverberating through the floors of the big house causing the floorboards to shake.
“I haveta go, Claire,” Jamie sighed, defeated. He’d felt something change in that moment and he had been *certain* she was about to tell him something. But the chance had gone, broken by the sounds of the house beginning to wake for the day. “But I’ll see ye soon, aye?”
“Yes,” Claire answered, watching sorrowfully as Jamie disappeared back upstairs. “I’ll be here…we’ll be here…”
It wasn’t long after that the MacKenzie’s made their apologies and left - back to Leoch. With Laoghaire gone, Claire relaxed, her fears that she might be bound for Jamie’s affections fading. She could dutifully ignore everything else and the days began to bleed into one another.
Waking one night, alone, she felt her skin prickle with want, her thighs clenching as if Jamie had been there touching her.
“No,” she sighed, determined to fight the urge, “can’t…”
Sleepy as she was, she could feel desire tugging at her, its persistent voice growing only louder as she tried to force herself back to sleep.
Claire could feel him, even though she was certain that he wasn’t *actually* there.
Twisting onto her other side, her face now angled towards the door, she blinked. Her eyes opened slowly, allowing her gaze the chance to adapt to the inky blackness that surrounded her. The door remained closed.
'For the best,’ she thought, blearily. Knowing that she would have broken down – and told him everything before begging him to take her – had he appeared.
Slipping her hand between her legs, Claire calmly slid her shift aside. Temptation was too much, in the end, and she shut out the niggling doubts that whispered at her not to touch herself like this. With Jamie still close by she could ignore the depressing thoughts and focus on the more positive ones.
Brian, she’d overheard once, had often told the boys that although the bible saw it as a sin, they were better off committing acts of self gratification than getting themselves into bother with ladies and intercourse.
Taking this advice, Claire mimicked Jamie’s actions - from what she remembered of them - sneaking her palm between the crease of her legs and applying pressure to where she ached the most.
A burst of lust shot through her on first contact, and she thrust her hips, her teeth biting around her pillow in an attempted to quell the wails she so desperately wanted to unleash at the feeling.
It wasn’t Jamie, but she could imagine that it was. It was his voice that whispered in her ear. ’That’s it, Claire. Aye. Come to me, mo nighean..’
Curling her fingers, Claire gathered the growing moisture using the lubrication to stimulate her further as she wrapped herself neatly around her protruding belly.
She swore she could feel Jamie as waves of pleasure washed over her, the current pulling her under time and time again as her spine flexed and her knees trembled. Faster she moved, sweat gathering on her brow and dripping down the side of her face as she moaned soundlessly, crying out Jamie’s name as a deep throb intensified and rolled through her bones. She felt weightless, tingling beginning in her toes as her tongue peeked out from between her red stained lips.
“J-a-m-i-e…” she panted, her muscles spasming as she jerked and stilled, her body trembling with the pressure of it as she pulled in shallow breaths to remain conscious and lucid.
Claire awoke as the sun burst in through her tiny window, sleep colouring her vision as she rubbed her eyes and stretched her legs beneath the sheets. Morning. The chime of the clock brought her around fully as the telltale sign of life pounded above her.
The irony wasn’t lost on her. A day for church. A day for confession, if she so needed. The night before appeared behind her lids and she blinked away the memory.
She had so much to atone for, and too little time.
Grabbing the large bandages, Claire began to strap herself up, all the while being careful not to hem herself in too tightly. Her corsets felt uncomfortable now, their intricate boning jabbing her in all the wrong places as she tried to ensure her tummy didn’t look suspiciously large.
She could feel the baby flop inside her, the tiny bairn wriggling as if vocally displeased with her new living arrangements.
“I’m sorry,” Claire whispered, looking down at her now (mostly) flat abdomen, “I’m so sorry, sweet one. Not for much longer…promise.”
Following studiously behind Mama Crook, Claire filed into the pews, taking her seat behind the Fraser’s as the priest began the sermon. She didn’t hear a word. The hour passed like a blur in front of her eyes as she nervously jiggled her leg against the cold stone floor of the church.
She knew the priest, they all did. And although she knew he was sworn to secrecy - she was no less afraid to discuss this matter with him.
Someone would now know her secret.
Someone who *still* wasn’t Jamie.
That thought tugged at her heart and she felt distinctly like a scarlet woman.
Waiting quietly, Claire counted the lead lines that lay between each beautiful portrait on the stained glass windows. Images of biblical events filled her vision - the pregnant depiction of Mary being raised to the heavens by God to be the mother of his child cementing itself in her brain as she sat rigidly in the wooden seats.
She was no chosen one. Simply a girl caught in a spot of trouble.
“Claire?” Mama Crook called, waking Claire from her daydreaming, “time for ye, lass…”
Stumbling towards the confessional, Claire gripped her rosary tight. Truly she hadn’t much thought of religion. She had gone to church, confessed and prayed like everyone else but it had never been something she’d either feared or delighted in. It simply was the way of life.
Now, however, it seemed incredibly significant.
“F-forgive me, father,” Claire began, her hands shaking uncontrollably as she shifted against the cushioned seat of the confessional box, “for I have sinned…”