claire murray

Prompt #245 and #179

Howdy friends! it’s the weeist Bairn Marlo ( @marlosbooknook), bringing you another fluffy drabble! Thanks @caitbalfes and @cagedbirdsong for sending in prompts! Hope you enjoy!


245.”What counts as medical emergency?”

“Your whole body is a medical emergency!”

179. “Don’t get him all fired up. I’m gonna be the one who has to calm him down afterwards”

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6

You do things you never imagined you could do before.

   [16 Days of Outlander]
   [1x14 | The Search]
   [Favorite Line Not in the Books | Choose Love]
   [“If there’s a chance I can save Jamie, I have to try.”]

Uncles and Nunkies

Nunkie Jamie

A small blond boy in homespun breeks leaned on Jamie’s knee, staring up at me in wonder. 

“Who’s that, Nunkie?” he asked in a loud whisper. “That’s your great-auntie Claire,” Jamie said gravely. “Ye’ll have heard about her, I expect?” 

“Oh, aye,” the little boy said, nodding madly. “Is she as old as Grannie?” 

“Even older,” Jamie said, nodding back solemnly. The lad gawked up at me for a moment, then turned back to Jamie, face screwed up in scorn. 

“Get on wi’ ye, Nunkie! She doesna look anything like as old as Grannie! Why, there’s scarce a bit o’ silver in her hair!” 

“Thank you, child,” I said, beaming at him. 

“Are ye sure that’s our great-auntie Claire?” the boy went on, looking doubtfully at me. “Mam says Great-Auntie Claire was maybe a witch, but this lady doesna look much like it. She hasna got a single wart on her nose that I can see!” 

“Thanks,” I said again, a little more dryly. “And what’s your name?” 

He turned suddenly shy at being thus directly addressed, and buried his head in Jamie’s sleeve, refusing to speak. 

“This is Angus Walter Edwin Murray Carmichael,” Jamie answered for him, ruffling the silky blond hair. “Maggie’s eldest son, and most commonly known as Wally.” 

We call him Snot-rag,” a small red-haired girl standing by my knee informed me. “ ’Cause his neb is always clotted wi’ gook.” 

Angus Walter jerked his face out of his uncle’s shirt and glared at his female relation, his features beet-red with fury. 

“Is not!” he shouted. “Take it back!” Not waiting to see whether she would or not, he flung himself at her, fists clenched, but was jerked off his feet by his great-uncle’s hand, attached to his collar. 

“Ye dinna hit girls,” Jamie informed him firmly. “It’s not manly.” 

“But she said I was snotty!” Angus Walter wailed. “I must hit her!” 

“And it’s no verra civil to pass remarks about someone’s personal appearance, Mistress Abigail,” Jamie said severely to the little girl. “Ye should apologize to your cousin.” 

“Well, but he is…” Abigail persisted, but then caught Jamie’s stern eyes and dropped her own, flushing scarlet. “Sorry, Wally,” she murmured. 

Wally seemed at first indisposed to consider this adequate compensation for the insult he had suffered, but was at last prevailed upon to cease trying to hit his cousin by his uncle promising him a story. 

“Tell the one about the kelpie and the horseman!” my red-haired acquaintance exclaimed, pushing forward to be in on it. 

“No, the one about the Devil’s chess game!” chimed in one of the other children. Jamie seemed to be a sort of magnet for them; two boys were plucking at his coverlet, while a tiny brown-haired girl had climbed up onto the sofa back by his head, and begun intently plaiting strands of his hair. 

“Pretty, Nunkie,” she murmured, taking no part in the hail of suggestions. 

“It’s Wally’s story,” Jamie said firmly, quelling the incipient riot with a gesture. “He can choose as he likes.” He drew a clean handkerchief out from under the pillow and held it to Wally’s nose, which was in fact rather unsightly. 

“Blow,” he said in an undertone, and then, louder, “and then tell me which you’ll have, Wally.” 

Wally snuffled obligingly, then said, “St. Bride and the geese, please, Nunkie.” 

Jamie’s eyes sought me, resting on my face with a thoughtful expression.


Uncle Ian

All of the children were clustered round Young Ian, staring and asking so many questions that they collided with one another, and pushed and shoved, arguing as to who asked what and who should be answered first. 

The children had paid no attention to the elder Ian’s remark. They already knew Grandda was dying, and the fact was of no interest by comparison with the fact of their fascinating new uncle. A tiny girl with her hair in stubby plaits sat in Young Ian’s lap, tracing the lines of his tattoos with her fingers, now and then sticking one inadvertently in his mouth as he smiled and made hesitant answers to his inquisitive nieces and nephews.

If Jamie and Claire (and Wee Ian) could text: Jamie throws out his back in Drums of Autumn and they get it on in the lean-to Edition because why not (BOOK SPOILERS)
  • Claire: Jamie you've been out in the snow for far too long
  • Claire: are you alright?
  • Claire: Jamie?
  • Claire: Jamie Brigitta Fraser respond to me right this minute
  • >>Wee Ian Murray was added to the chat<<
  • Claire: Ian have you heard from you uncle??
  • Claire: he went out hunting and he's not responding to my demeaning jibes
  • Ian: omg!
  • Ian: are ye sure he's not just sleeping on the hunt and ignoring the texts?
  • Claire: god I hope so but you give it a go
  • Ian: Hey, Uncle, I bedded five different Tuscarora lassies at once last night, and they had me Tuscaroarin'
  • Claire: ohgoodlordIan
  • {{{crickets}}}
  • Ian: oh aye he's definitely not seeing these texts
  • Ian: I'm a half day away but I'll head your way now
  • Claire: I'm heading out into the snow to find him
  • Ian: be safe auntie
  • Ian: dress warmly
  • {{{two hours}}}
  • Claire: Jamie I found your trail but it went cold
  • Claire: PLEASE text me
  • Ian: borrowed a horse, will be there asap
  • Claire: of Course Jamie picks a bloody blizzard to disappear in
  • {{{one hour}}}
  • Claire: I will never forgive you if you got eaten by a wildcat or
  • Jamie: I'm alive
  • Claire: OH THANK GOD
  • Ian: WHEW
  • Ian: what happened??
  • Claire: WHERE ARE YOU??
  • Jamie: Threw out my back
  • Jamie: cannnamove
  • Claire: WHERE??
  • Jamie: those your thundering footsteps I hear
  • Tramping about?
  • Claire: DO NOT BITE THE HAND, BRIGITTA
  • Jamie: go down the hill and
  • To the left, my sun and stars
  • Jamie: halpthishurtssobad
  • {{{twenty minutes}}}
  • Claire: found him Ian
  • Claire: made a quick lean to
  • Claire: we're going to wait out the storm a bit
  • >>pings location on google maps <<
  • Claire: come find us and bring the horse as soon as you can
  • Ian: okay still three hours out
  • Ian: two hours out
  • Ian: one hour out
  • Ian: 30 mins
  • Ian: you guys okay?
  • Ian: why aren't you responding ?
  • Ian: okay I think I'm here
  • Ian: oh yeah I see the lean to at the bottom of this cliff
  • Ian: wait are you...
  • Ian: 😱
  • Ian: 😏 oh y'all NASTY
  • Ian: but also adorable
  • Ian: ❄️🎶baby it's collddddddd outttttsiiiiiiiiide🎶❄️
  • Ian: also not to be creepy but you guys have some moves
  • Ian: jaysus
  • Ian: I'm averting my eyes I swear
  • Ian: buuuuuuut first imma help set this #Mood a little better
  • >>incoming files:
  • Like_a_virgin.mp3
  • Missy_elliot_work it.mp3
  • boyz2men_ill_make_love_to_you.mp3
  • Ian: okay I've given you quite a range there
  • Ian: maybe run through all three and see how it goes
  • Ian: you guys do your thang
  • Ian: I'll just
  • Ian: oh wait
  • Ian: sounds like you're finishing up now
  • Ian: you didna get to use the playlist 😔
  • Ian: save for next time aye?
  • Ian: okay I'm guessing you'll be checking your phones in 3...2..:
  • Claire: IAN WHATEVERYOURMIDDLENAMESARE MURRAY
  • Jamie: FOR FUCKS ACTUAL SAKE IAN
  • Ian: well yeah that's the whole point!!
  • Jamie: WHAT IN GODS NAME POSSESSED YE
  • Ian: was just tryna be supportive!
  • Jamie: oh and that five lassies joke wasna AT ALL funny
  • Ian: oh aye. DEFINITELY was A joke.
  • Ian: ha
  • Jamie: Christyourmotherwilleviscerateme
  • Ian: so are we all finished or should I go take a lap?
  • Ian: dinna want the playlist to go to waste
6

“In the early days, it’s a bit like belly-gas,” she said, laughing. She poked a toe into her brother’s midsection. “Just there— like little bubbles rippling through your belly. But then later, you feel the child move, and it’s like a fish on your line and then gone— like a quick tug, but so soon past you’re not sure you felt it.” As though in protest at this description, her unseen companion heaved to and fro, making her stomach bulge on one side, then the other.

[…] “They sleep, ye know, for hours at a time. Sometimes ye fear they’ve died, when there’s no movement for a long time. Then you try to wake them”— her hand pushed in sharply at the side, and was rewarded immediately by a strong push in the opposite direction—“ and you’re happy when they kick again. But it’s not just the babe itself. You feel swollen all over, near the end. Not painful … just so ripe you could burst. It’s as though you need to be touched, verra lightly, all over.” Jenny was no longer looking at me. Her eyes held her husband’s, and I knew she was no longer aware of me or her brother. There was an air of intimacy between her and Ian, as though this were a story often told, but one of which they never tired.

Her voice was lower now, and her hands rose again to her breasts, heavy and compelling under the light bodice. 

“And in the last month or so, the milk begins to come in. You feel yourself filling, just a wee bit at a time, a little each time the child moves. And then suddenly, everything comes up hard and round.” She cupped her stomach again. “There’s no pain, then, just a breathless feeling, and then your breasts tingle as though they’ll explode if they’re not suckled.” She closed her eyes and leaned back, stroking her massive belly, over and over, with a rhythm like the invocation of a spell. It came to me, watching her, that if ever there were such a thing as a witch, then Janet Fraser was one.

The smoky air was filled with the trance over the room; the feeling that lies at the root of lust, the terrible yearning need to join, and create. I could have counted every hair on Jamie’s body without looking at him, and knew each one stood erect. 

Jenny opened her eyes, dark in the shadows, and smiled at her husband, a slow, rich curve of infinite promise.

“And late in bearing, when the child moves a lot, sometimes there’s a feeling like when you’ve your man inside ye, when he comes to ye deep and pours himself into you. Then, then when that throbbing starts deep inside ye along with him, it’s like that, but it’s much bigger; it ripples all through the walls of your womb and fills all of you. The child’s quiet then, and it’s as though it’s him you’ve taken inside you instead.” 


Suddenly she turned to me, and the spell was broken. “That’s what they want sometimes, ye know,” she said quietly, smiling into my eyes. “They want to come back.”

1.13 The Watch

“He went on loving her”

The rage that had filled her drained suddenly away, and Brianna leaned forward, resting her weight on the palms of her hands, the necklace hard and lumpy under her hand. Her hair had come loose, and a thick strand fell over her face. 

Her eyes were closed against the dizziness that threatened to engulf her; she felt, rather than saw, the hand that touched her and tenderly smoothed the locks back from her face. 

“He went on loving her,” she whispered, as much to herself as to anyone else. “He didn’t forget her.” 

“Of course he didna forget her.” She opened her eyes to see Ian’s long face and kind brown eyes six inches away. A broad work-worn hand rested on hers, warm and hard, a hand even larger than her own. 

“Neither did we,” he said.

-Drums of Autumn

shortiemcbealle  asked:

Not an ask but just a bit of kudos, I am really diggin "Tales from the Past". I'm very curious to see if Claire thinks it all a big coincidence and how Uncle Lamb will react to all of the info they find? Thank you for the lovely writing.

Tales From the Past | Part I, Part II

Scotland was unlike anything I had ever seen before.  The land was an unbelievable shade of green and more beautiful than I could have ever imagined. The image I had of my witch and whisky maker family fit perfectly within this landscape. The rolling hills leading to towering mountains, and the glistening lakes reflecting the scenery around them gave the air of magic and endless possibilities. The deeper into the Highlands we travelled, the easier it was to see how the Scots, and my Scots in particular, transitioned and settled in the mountains of North Carolina. There was a familiarity between the two, but whereas Scotland felt old and full of legends, the North Carolinian mountains had an air of youthful mystery in comparison.

“Are we there yet, Uncle?” I asked as yet another town flashed beyond the car windows.

“Not yet my dear. We’ll be there in no time at all, just enjoy the scenery. Maybe you could come up with your own legend by the time we get to our destination!” He cheered then went back to humming a nameless tune.

I sighed and looked longingly out the window. I just wanted to be there, I wanted to see their home and find out more. “Are we going to Broch Morda and Lallybroch?” I asked not five seconds later.

“No, Claire.” Uncle Lamb said with authority. “We’re headed to a town called Inverness. My correspondent who can trace their lineage back to Lallybroch itself lives there. She’s more than willing to tell her family stories and that of her husband’s as well.”

“Fine.” I grumbled, “I still wish we were going straight to Lallybroch. Something is pulling me in that direction, we need to go there.”

“Patience my dear, we will get there, just after we’ve heard what these Murray’s have to say.” Lamb winked.

Inverness was beautiful, tucked away at the top of Loch Ness I could see the appeal and history all around, but I was restless.

“How long do we have to be here?”

“Long enough,” He laughed guiding me towards the door. “I thought you wanted to hear the legends?”

I groaned, “I do but I want to go see Lallybroch more!”

“Let’s see what they have to say first. We’ll need their story to help further our investigation, despite your curious insistence!” Uncle Lamb cut me off before I could speak further.

“Fine,” I murmured into my arm that rested on the door. My excitement crushed for a moment.

The countryside blurred by until the faintest idea of a town sprung up in spires and stone.

“Inverness?” I asked looking to at Uncle Lamb. He grinned and nodded, weaving our way through the streets to the tea room where the mysterious Murray’s awaited our arrival.

“Here we are, m’dear!” Lamb exclaimed throwing the car door open. “Would you get my satchel from the boot? We may need to take photographs and extra pens and paper! You never know what all they’ll have or have to say!”

His excitement was contagious and I felt my own lift to a nervous bubble. I still longed to see the fabled home, but deep down I knew I needed to hear what the Murray’s had to say.

“Are you Quentin Lambert?” A tall and lanky man with jet black hair and gray eyes asked as he approached our car.

“That I am! You must be Alexander Murray,” Lamb greeted, clasping the man’s hand.

Mr. Murray chuckled and nodded. “Aye, and this is my sister Jennifer.” He gestured to short girl with the same black hair and gray eyes.

“We’ve already got a kettle on, please join us inside.” Her smile was kind, but wary.

“Claire! Don’t forget the books!” Uncle Lamb called from over his shoulder absentmindedly as he entered the quaint stone building.

I took a moment to breathe in my surroundings. The bustle of people and their cars contrasting against the ancient stone buildings. If I closed my eyes and blocked out the modern sounds I could believe I was there when it all began. I could feel the clean Scottish air as it wrapped itself around me and those on the streets, smell the the roasting meats from taverns and hearth fires as well as fresh bannocks and bread, and I could imagine the sounds of wagon wheels and horse’s hooves on cobble and splattering mud. My imagination took me to a world where I could imagine my whisky making Scot walking down the street, and with a swish of a kilt he was gone.

“Miss Beauchamp?” I jumped, startled, my eyes flying open as the pack fell to the street. “Och, sorry. I dinna mean to give ye such a fright. Yer uncle was asking for ye. I came to fetch ye inside.”

My cheeks reddened from getting caught in my fantasy. The real world felt foreign and distant compared to where my mind had just held me. I slowly retrieved Uncle Lamb’s bag and followed Jennifer Murray inside.

“Claire! Claire! There you are, what kept you? No matter, you really must hear what young Mr. Murray has told me about his family! There was a tale that originated from a great uncle of sorts, and that very uncle could be the James Fraser we are striving to find! But I’m very much more fascinated in this enthralling tale of a cave, espionage and freedom! Please, come sit. Sit and listen!” Lamb managed to get all of this out in a single breath, his face red, but eyes alight with excitement. I noticed his hands were already ink-stained and smudged, his left worst of all.  

“Breathe Uncle.” I said, laying a hand to his shoulder. “I’m sure Mr. Murray doesn’t wish to recount the tale again.”

“I dinna mind at all! Would ye like some tea before I start?” Alexander Murray gestured to the barely touched tray of tea and shortbread.

“Yes, thankyou.” I replied, pouring my own cup and grabbing a biscuit.

“As I was telling your very enthusiastic Uncle, my family has many tales and legends as does most here in the highlands. But one, we can go so far to say, is one of the more famous ones.” he said lowering his voice with a wink. “This one legend was said to be the Laird of Broch Tuarach during the uprising of Prince Tearlach in 1745. It’s said that the Laird was spared at the battle of Culloden or most likely escaped the clutches of the British and fled back to his homeland. His hair was a fiery red, easily spotted and gave him little chances to hide. My–” he paused and then gestured to his sister, “–our great-great-great grandmother was this Laird’s sister. She hid him in a priest hole that her recently dead sister-in-law had told her to build. You see the Laird’s wife was a Sassenach and a faerie.

“The folk in the highlands were wary of her and her healing abilities, even though the laird loved her more than life. She was among those caught in the crossfire of Culloden. The Laird being so distraught had nearly given up the will to live and when he was well enough to stand, decided to hide in the hillside to better protect his family.”

“Och! You’re tellin it wrong Sawny!” Jennifer interrupted.

“Och aye? Am I? Weel why dinna you tell it then and let me save my voice!” he said and smugly crossed his arms and legs into a relaxed position.

“I will then!” She settled herself deep into her chair.

“As my brother said, our great-great-great grandmother was the sister to the Laird who became legend, and it is from her that we get our story. Before the days of Culloden and the blackened soul of Prince Tearlach set this bonnie nation into strife, the Murray’s and Fraser’s lived peacefully on the estate. The young Laird had taken a faerie to wife, but all that knew her well enough said she was kinder than of any fae, and that she loved the Laird and his family to the ends of time. It was when she caught a vision of great strife and suffering for her beloved’s people, she told her good sister to plant crops that would yield a great amount, and prepare hidden storages including a priest’s hole under the kitchen cellar. The fae and her husband rushed out to protect the people and try to stop the horror she had seen from coming to fruition.

“They had earned the trust of Prince Tearlach, and made their way into his inner council. Night after night, day after day, the Laird tried to convince the Prince of his doomed cause, but to no avail. The horror still approached and overcame the people of this good nation. Killing thousands, destroying homes and the highland culture at it’s roots. The faerie wife, so distraught at the destruction of her adopted home, begged for her people to save the Scots, to turn back time and not let it happen, but they didna answer. Instead, it’s said she curled up on a faerie hill just outside Inverness and died of a broken heart. Unable to save her beloved nor her new people, and the old ones wouldnae have her back.

“However, the Laird did survive! He made his way home to Broch Tuarach where his sister tended to his physical wounds, but nothing could take away the pain he felt at the death of his wife. He hid for months in the priest’s hole, listening to raid after raid from the British soldiers and he could have it no more. He was too much of a danger to his family, and he couldna bear to lose another part of his heart. One night, he hid himself deep into the caves of the hills that surrounded his property with naught but a dun bonnet to his name. Just far enough that he would pose no danger, but close enough that if he was needed, he could be called upon. For seven years he hid by himself in the caves, coming out at night, clad in brown from head to toe, hiding the flames of his hair under bonnet and cloak of night to deliver fresh meat of his kills to his people and family.

“The Laird’s most faithful servant would risk his life week after week to bring the Laird fresh ale, clothes, and news of the town and of his family when the laird could not make his way down the mountain. On a day, not unlike today, where the sun shone high and the temperature mild, the servant raced up the hill bringing his lairdship fresh supplies, only to be stopped by a wicked cluster of British soldiers. They accused the lad of stealing and chopped his hand off for his crimes, then stole the Laird’s supplies for their own gain. Outraged the Laird tended the lad as best he could in the cave before taking him to the estate for proper healing. It was then the Laird decided that his time in the caves were at an end. He had to stand, he needed to fight the cruelty and oppression being imposed on his people.

“Seven years since the uprising, and there was still a traitor’s reward for the Laird. The laird asked his brother-in-law to turn himself in, grab the stirling reward and feed the family and people he could no longer protect.”

Jennifer stood up and went to the window. I blinked trying to come back to the world around me. The tale she had spun so vivid in my mind, like that was the true reality and not this tea parlour.

“What happened to him? The Laird?” I asked, desperate to hear more.

She turned, the light a halo around her silhouette, “The Dun Bonnet Laird went to prison to save his family. If you go back to our family’s ancestral home and speak to the locals they may tell you of him in a different way, the story altering from family to family. But one thing is for sure, they say on the old fire feasts, ye can see the Dun Bonnet standing at the mouth of his cave, keeping his vigil for all who are under his protection.”