I was thinking the same thing myself, and thought … why not?
And here’s a little fic behind it. As well as a quick sketch.
“Can’t I have a sweater or something?” Virgil grumbled.
Penny rolled her eyes and ticked off the names of the contestants on the clipboard.
“No,” she replied rather curtly, “and stop complaining, you Tracy’s are spoiled rotten on that island of yours. It’s about time you toughened up a little. And Scotland is the perfect place.”
“Perfect alright, it never stops raining up here and I’m feeling a draft …. you know.”
He swivelled his hips to make a point, and wished he hadn’t, because by golly, it suddenly felt rather chilly … under there. And he swore he was getting goosebumps on top of goosebumps.
“It shouldn’t be long,” Penny said rather primly, “you’re up next, tossing the caber.”
“Why not? It’s a tradition going back many centuries, Virgil. And you do have the *ahem* perfect physique for it.”
As much as she loved Gordon, she couldn’t help running an appraising eye over his brother’s bulky torso. Who wouldn’t? He was built like a rugby player and with that, he had the perfect strength to haul the caber at this, the annual Highland Games style charity event.
“But … why … me?”
“Your father was a great advocate for charity events , don’t you think you should continue the tradition? I’m sure he’d be proud of you. ”
A Pinch of Snuff, Delacour, c.1760. Depicting Malcolm
MacPherson of Phoness who, at the age of 67
joined the 78th Foot as a Gentleman Volunteer.
MacPherson distinguished himself at the Battle of
Quebec in 1759 and the following year was
presented to King George II.
I totally agree that there’s a urgent need for fluff-and you’re accepting that cuddle prompts?? How about 24 & 30, with 25 thrown into the middle??
Fancy Meeting You Here
It was a full moon over Edinburgh which meant Claire was expecting strange things to happen during her shift in A & E. Last month they had an entire mother’s group show up with food poisoning after buying sushi on Gumtree. The month before that they had several dog handlers at the SKC Championship get into a massive brawl. She did not, however, expect to be locked in the supply closet with a strapping, handsome Highlander wearing a kilt.
When you worked in a hospital you learned to take advantage of lulls to restock whatever you would potentially need which is why she was even in the old part of the wing. It was cold, poorly insulated and drafty - perfect for squirrelling things away but not the best place for Claire at the moment. Her brain, when not focused on her patient, was fixated on her leaving for Magaluf in less than 48 hours. This was precisely why she forgot the key she would need when the heavy ancient door shut and locked while she was grabbing what she needed.
“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!” she exclaimed. “I swear something always happens right before I take a holiday!”
Claire kicked the door a few times as she yelled every expletive she knew. It helped. She began to calm down and look for her mobile when she heard a voice behind her laugh.
“Bloody hell! Now I’m hallucinating voices!” she giggled. One of the other nurses
“Sounds like an issue you need to work out, Sassenach.” a deep voice boomed.
Claire’s shrill scream filled the air for an entire minute before she felt a large hand clamped over her mouth. She turned sideways to see an imposing figure with an arm in a rudimentary sling. Her years of martial arts lessons were running through her head as she estimated his height and weight.
The stranger spoke again, “And now my ears are bleeding! I thought you medical types took a Hippocratic oath to do no harm?” he asked.
“Mmmph mmmph mmmmph!”
His eyes widened at her creative cursing, “Oh, aye? I don’t think that’s physically possible. Do you go to confession with that mouth?” he gasped.
They glared at each other until he called a truce. He promised to take his hand away on the condition that she wouldn’t yell again. Claire shrugged but refused to meet his eyes. As he began to pull away she pushed his arm out of the way then focused all her strength to hit opposite shoulder. A loud crack echoed off the walls as the pair stood motionless.
“That’s the business!” he sighed. “I think you knocked it back into place, Sassenach. Tapadh leat.”
He extended his right arm to shake her hand. “Jamie. Jamie Fraser. Pleased to meet you.”
She took it as she rolled her eyes. It was becoming obvious he didn’t realise they were trapped until someone would come looking for her.
“Claire Beauchamp. Idiot nurse.” she said curtly. “These old doors automatically lock when they close and I left they key at the desk. You better bundle up Jamie Jamie Fraser because we’re in for a wait.”
His face fell.
“Big plans before you dislocated your shoulder?” Claire quipped. It had taken her a while to see that he was in full formal regalia. For some reason she kept staring at his knees, wondering why she couldn’t look away.
“My sister’s wedding reception up the road.” he sighed. “I got kicked by one of the horses pulling her carriage to Mass, which is why I was here.”
Claire rubbed her arms and her teeth began to chatter. She regretted volunteering to get the long list of supplies everyone would eventually need. He wasn’t bad company but if she didn’t freeze to death she was leaving the country with another man in a few days.
“You’re here, in this c-c-closet, because of a horse?” she laughed. “Now that is a very talented h-h-horse!”
Jamie flung a nearby blanket over Claire’s shoulders, pulled her closer, and enveloped her in a hug. She was startled at first but decided not to complain when she began warming up. He heard her exhale loudly as she wrapped her arms around him to return the favor.
“How are you not freezing your arse off?” she demanded. “I think I’m several degrees from frostbite and you’re as warm as a potbellied stove!”
He narrowed his eyes and mimed looking around, “It’s the kilt. It’s imbued with special powers.”
Claire snorted as she laughed, looking to see how long it would take him to crack. He kept his face serious as he returned her intense gaze.
That was the moment they both leaned in to kiss each other. The air was buzzing as the kisses started to escalate but before either could get to handsy, the door miraculously opened.
The on-call doctor stood in the doorway with the necessary key in his hand.
“Nurse Beauchamp! Excellent job of finding our runaway, you should be commended on your tenacity.”
Jamie and the startled young woman did their best to stifle their laughter, stepping out of the closet with all that she needed.
“Thank you, sir!” she said seriously. “Now come along Mr. Fraser you need to get a clean bill of health before you can be discharged.”
The couple made a hasty exit, returning to the heated area of the hospital where they exchanged mobile numbers. Thankfully, their next date was much longer with no locked supply closets involved.
Culloden Moor, Scotland, where the Battle of Culloden was fought by the Jacobite and English forces on April 16, 1746. The top photo is one of many stones commemorating the mass burials of many Highland clansmen; the second photo is the moor itself, which has been allowed to return to nature–this is the terrain men had to fight through; the third photo is the plaque of a later memorial built by an English nobleman (those are my roses!); and the last photo is a simple sign in Scots Gaelic and English asking for a little reflection and respect. The battle was a rout–it was over in about 45 minutes; well, cannons versus claymores. It led to the end of the clan system, the physical destruction of the Highlands, the banning of weaponry, kilts, and the Gaelic language, and the beginning of massive migration to North America.
Details from my Argyll Militia uniform, 1746, including the “great kilt” or
féileadh-mór. The tartan is the “government sett,” used by highlanders loyal to the British government, most famously the Black Watch. It bears many similarities to the tartans of Clan Campbell, who generally made up the largest contingent of loyalist highlander military units during the Jacobite era.