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scapegrace74-blog · 1 year

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The Man from Black Water, Chapter 8

A/N Here’s one more (long) chapter before I return to the salt mines tomorrow. From here on in, I can’t promise the updates will come as frequently, but I promise that they’ll come.

In this chapter, we see both the good and the bad of Jamie and Claire’s temperaments.

Previous chapters are available on my AO3 page.

Thanks for reading!

The next morning, Claire came across Jamie in the stables. She heard his voice before she could see him, low and melodic as he spoke to the colt in an unfamiliar tongue. Gaelic, she surmised.

“Tha thu breagha, a charaid,” his deep voice crooned, and while she didn’t understand the words, the affection he felt for the animal was clear.

“What is it you’re saying to him?” she asked as she leaned against the stall door.

The big Scot paused his rhythmic currying of Hamlet’s dark coat to peer over his withers at his unexpected visitor.

“Mostly nonsense, but I was jes tellin’ him what a handsome lad he is,” Jamie confessed with a grin that transformed his stalwart face. Hamlet wasn’t the only handsome lad in the stables that day.

Lips as soft as rose petals tickled Claire’s palm, searching for a treat. She dug a sugar cube out of her pocket and offered it to the colt, who gobbled it up.

“He is a sweet thing,” she remarked as Jamie finished his task and came to join her by the door.

“Aye, there isna a mean bone in his body,” he agreed.

“Curly will find one.”

“Curly! Dinna tell me tha’ bas-, baw-, good-fer-nothin’ is responsible fer breaking this animal?” Jamie struggled to find a word to describe the brute that was fit to be uttered before a lady.

“You’ve got to be firm with a young horse,” Claire opined, secretly relishing the young man’s ire. It felt good not to be the only one angry at the status quo.

“Aye, but no’ cruel.”

“Are you saying you could break this colt?” she challenged.

Jamie narrowed his eyes at the single-minded lass before him, at war with himself. He hated the idea of the colt, or any horse for that matter, being mistreated by the likes of Curly. His pride, still smarting from being left behind during the muster, longed to have a task at which he knew he could excel. And there was no denying that spending time in the company of a beautiful young woman with spirit and intellect held its own appeal.

“What about yer father?” Jamie inquired, sensing there was more to Claire’s motivation than the desire to see the colt well-treated.

“He’ll be gone for at least two weeks. If Hamlet is broken before he gets back, what can he say? Of course, if you think it’s too much for you…”

Looking back, Jamie realized he’d never stood a chance. When given the opportunity to show off to a pretty lass and thumb his nose at his intolerant employer, there was never any question that he would walk away.

***

It was Brian Fraser who had taught his son how to break a horse to saddle. The trick, Jamie’s father had explained, was to work with the animal’s natural disposition to please, while slowly introducing them to the foreign sensations of pressure from the girth, the feel of the saddle, the guidance of a bit across the tender bars of the mouth, and finally, the weight of a rider upon their back.

Jamie was fortunate that Hamlet knew and trusted him. Despite that, he refused the urge to skip steps, unwilling to scare the young horse in his rush to master him.

“What does the blanket do?” Claire asked from the rail of the paddock where they met each day after their respective obligations were dispensed with: Jamie to the other Netherton livestock and Claire to whatever domestic activities at which a genteel lady was expected to gain proficiency.

“It gets him used tae feelin’ somethin’ upon his back, and tae catching sight of it in the corner o’ his eye,” Jamie explained as he scratched the colt behind one ear.

“That makes sense, since horses have near three-hundred-and-sixty-degree peripheral vision.”

Seeing the Highlander’s look of bewilderment, Claire hastened to explain.

“That means they can see almost directly behind…”

“I ken what it means, Sassenach,” Jamie interrupted. “I’m jes surprised tae hear ye say it. Why do ye ken sae much about horses, if ye dinna mind me askin’?”

Claire considered lying, used as she was to male ridicule when she mentioned her interest in veterinary medicine. Instead, she decided to trust Jamie with her covert passion.

Instead of responding straight away, he continued to caress the colt, a far-off look in his seafaring eyes. A nod, as though striking a bargain with some invisible arbiter, and he replied with,

“Aye, that’s grand.”

“Grand?” Claire stuttered open-mouthed. “You don’t mean to lecture me about how it’s unsuitable for a woman and that I’ll never secure a husband if I pursue a profession?”

Jamie shrugged away her rhetorical concerns.

“I reckon ye ken better than anyone wha’ yer suited for or no’. And as fer a husband,” he added with a boyish grin, “ye’ll jes have tae find a man wi’ a herd o’ sickly beasts.”

***

Hamlet flourished under Jamie’s thoughtful care, each day seeing the young colt grow more and more comfortable with the accoutrements of being a saddle horse. Within a week, he was accepting the bit in his mouth and surcingle around his ribs with only a few placid flicks of his expressive ears.

“He really is a handsome lad,” Claire commented as they sat on the paddock fence watching their charge canter about after his lesson, enjoying his renewed freedom.

“Aye. Does yer father plan tae race him?” Most days, Jamie managed to forget that the horse he was working was worth more than a lifetime of his labour, but just then it was making his wame a bit queasy.

Claire scoffed. “My father neither knows nor cares the tiniest jot for horse racing. He only bought him so that some other wealthy landowner could not. For Henry Beauchamp, it’s the appearance of things that matters, nothing else.”

Despite his own feelings about his employer, Jamie felt compelled to defend the man, if only to erase the forlorn look from his daughter’s face.

“I’m certain he cares fer ye greatly, Claire,” Jamie declared, reaching out to initiate contact with the petal-soft skin on the back of her hand for the first time.

“I used to believe so. Now I know I’m just another one of his objects on display.”

***

It rained in miserable torrents for the next three days. Claire was confined to the manor, and Jamie, Donas and Rollo were occupied moving the estate’s livestock to drier pastures. Accustomed as he was to the docile longhorn cattle native to the mountain glens, the Highlander had his hands full with Netherton’s herd of Angus cows, wily and fractious beasts that delighted in escaping any enclosure. He ended each day tired, waterlogged and as irritable as the animals he cared for. The fact that he missed spending time with Claire and Hamlet only added to his sour mood.

On the evening of the third night, he stood in the stables beneath the orange parabola cast by an oil lamp, carefully wiping Donas dry with a cloth rag. The gelding leaned into his touch, whickering softly. Claire stopped, undetected, just inside the door and watched the stable hand’s strong features caressed by flame and shadow.

In Victorian society, men styled their hair and grew elaborate facial hair. By contrast, the Highlander’s natural russet waves and closely shaven beard were an anachronism, but no less appealing for it. His body was tall and lean, with the tautly coiled intensity of a cat, and his hands as he groomed his horse were a juxtaposition of rough and gentle. Despite the chill of her damp clothes, she could feel prickles of heat rising beneath her skin, foreign and delicious.

She must have made a noise loud enough to be heard over the percussive rain on the metal roof, or else he could sense the heaviness of her stare, for he looked up and their eyes met for the first time in days. She watched his lips part and expel an indistinct word that nonetheless echoed in her rushing pulse.

“Sassenach,” Jamie shook his head as though waking from a daydream. “What are ye doin’ out in this uplowsin? Ye’re fair drookit.”

Claire turned the unfamiliar words around in her mind, searching for their meaning. Considering the weather and the miserable state of her hair, uplowsin and drookit were easy enough to work out.

“What’s a sass-en-ack? You’ve called me that before.”

Jamie blushed so fiercely that he was surprised steam didn’t begin rising from his damp clothing.

“Tis a Highland word fer a Lowlander, or an English person such as yerself,” he prevaricated, leaving out the part about the word being a close cousin to an expletive. Based on the shrewd gleam in Claire’s golden eyes, she’d already guessed.

“Well, I suppose I cannot fault your observations,” she conceded graciously, letting him off his self-baited hook. “But I’ll have you know I was born on Scottish soil, somewhere along the road between here and Dundee.”

An expression of timeworn grief darkened her pretty features, and Jamie didn’t have to ask how a gentlewoman came to be born on the route to the nearest doctor.

“Would ye like tae help me feed the horses their supper?” he asked instead.

The stables grew warm from the body heat of their occupants. Jamie tossed sheaves of hay down from the loft while Claire gamely scooped rations of grain into feed troughs and topped up pails with cold water from the well. All the while, stories were traded back and forth about two childhoods lived not forty miles apart and yet so vastly different they may well have been from different centuries.

With Jamie’s chores completed and the hour growing late, the pair ran out of excuses to remain sequestered away in the refuge of the stables. Rain continued to lash the roof and Jamie cast his gaze about for a means of protecting Claire from the elements as she returned to the manor.

“Take my coat, Sassenach,” he offered when no other alternative presented itself.

“What are you going to wear?” she protested. “As far as I can tell, the rain is just as wet between here and the bunkhouse.”

Gracious the lady of the manor might be, but submissive she was not.

“I’m from the Highlands, lass. A wee bit o’ rain doesna bother me.”

This was an outright falsehood, but Jamie felt gallantry justified the lie.

“I’m not some fragile bauble made from spun sugar who will dissolve into a puddle. It’s just water, Jamie.”

“And tis jes an overcoat, Claire.”

They stood staring at each other across ten feet of stone floor. Even in the dim lamplight, Jamie could make out the pretty flush of anger on Claire’s skin, the rapid rise and fall of her bosom and the inky dilation of her pupils. It stirred something in him he was used to suppressing, something base and a little bit feral.

“I suppose,” she conceded when their stand-off showed no signs of ending, “you could come with me to the manor. That way, I could return the coat to you straight away.”

Jamie consciously loosened his shoulders. Provoking the lass was counter-productive, no matter how lovely she was in her pique.

“An’ I suppose we could drape it o’er our heads, so we both dinna get wet,” he allowed.

Like a fast-moving storm, the clouds of Claire’s ire parted, and her laughter rang out like a ray of sunshine.

“Well, that’s one calamity averted. With our combined intellects, no petty obstacle will stand in our way!”

“Aye,” Jamie chuckled as he huddled as close to her shoulder as he dared and stretched one coat tail over her head with his long arm. “We make a braw team. Stubborn as oxen, the both o’ us.”

“The trick is to ensure we’re always pulling in the same direction.”

***

After two weeks of preparation, the day Jamie would attempt to ride Hamlet finally arrived. He first lunged the colt in endless circles, trying to exhaust his youthful energy. With Claire holding the bridle, he then carefully lowered a saddle onto the glossy black back and tightened the girth in careful increments. Sensing the nervousness of his handlers, Hamlet pivoted his ears forward and back but was otherwise still.

Aunt Rosemary and Mrs. Crook had both come down to the corral to witness the momentous occasion. Even Rollo had joined them, his head cocked to one side in apparent interest. It seemed fitting to offer some form of encouragement, but the addition of onlookers to their usual trio made Claire shy. Instead, she joined the other women outside the fence, fingers gripping the top rail, as Jamie led the colt over to the mounting block.

With a surprising amount of nimbleness for such a large man, the stock hand lowered himself onto Hamlet’s back for the first time. Bending low, he spoke softly near the horse’s ear. Although she couldn’t hear the words, Claire knew they would be in Gaelic, the language Jamie spoke in his heart.

With a gentle nudge and encouraging cluck, Hamlet began a sedate walk around the enclosure. As he rode by, Jamie took a moment to send a cockeyed wink in Claire’s direction. Everything was going exceptionally well, and he couldn’t help feeling a tiny bit smug.

Pride goeth before the fall, as any good Presbyterian would concur. After several easy laps of the corral, Jamie encouraged the colt into a trot. Less at ease with fifteen stone of man bouncing on top of his sensitive spine, Hamlet’s ears flattened against his poll and his tail began to swish violently. The afternoon breeze conspired to blow an oak leaf from a nearby tree, and that was all it took to send the anxious animal into a panic.

From her spot beyond the fence, Claire watched the whole scene unfold like a savage pantomime. First, Hamlet veered sharply to his left, causing Jamie to clamp down on the colt’s flanks to maintain his balance. In reaction, the frightened horse broke into a gallop, but the tight confines of the corral hemmed him in. By that time, Rollo was barking, and Mrs. Crook was crying out in fright while covering her eyes. With every instinct urging escape, Hamlet spun once more, ran straight across the ring at a gallop and sailed over the five-foot fence that separated the corral from a neighbouring field. With the sickening thud of a bag of bones hitting the ground, Jamie fell face down into the dirt and didn’t rise again.

***

A loud, repetitive noise dragged Jamie from the abyss of dreamless sleep. Keeping his eyes shuttered against the pain of the morning sun, he gathered his cloudy thoughts. His mouth was as wooly as an old sock. His head, the apparent source of the clanging noise, felt like the anvil of a busy blacksmith. Everything from his eyebrows to his toenails ached. It reminded him of the one time he’d drank too much of Murtagh’s whisky.

“Good morning,” Claire greeted far too loudly as she entered the bunkhouse carrying a tray of food. “It’s nice of you to rejoin the living.”

Painfully aware that he was in his bunk wearing only his workshirt and that he desperately needed to take a piss, Jamie gingerly lifted himself to a seated position beneath his blanket. The wood paneled walls of the room swam in his vision.

“What happened?” he croaked as softly as he could manage.

“You don’t remember? You came off the colt and hit your head. How many fingers am I holding up?”

Ignoring Claire’s attempt at being a nursemaid, the Highlander took stock of his own injuries. His whole right side was bruised to the point that it hurt to breathe. Possibly a broken rib or two. Judging by the tenderness of his cheek, he’d lost some skin as well. Worst of all, though, was his dignity. He’d undertaken the breaking of the young horse as a demonstration of his manhood, and here he lay abed like an ailing bairn.

“Where’s Hamlet?” he finally thought to ask. God help him if Beauchamp’s thousand-pound horse was wandering the vale of Ericht for anyone to steal.

“We caught him,” Claire replied, sounding very self-satisfied.

“Is he alright?”

“Flighty, but not otherwise harmed. The drovers are expected back tomorrow, but he should be fine by then. If not, we’ve decided how to handle my father.”

Jamie rolled onto his side with a grimace, needing to look directly at his erstwhile co-conspirator.

“Who’s we?” he asked, already knowing the answer and hating it.

“Mrs. Crook, Aunt Rosemary and I. No-one else knew you were working the colt, and as far as my father is concerned, he could just as well have been set off by a pack of wild dogs or a thunderstorm.”

“Aye, but he wasn’t, was he?” Jamie growled, suddenly much less pleased to be deceiving his employer if it meant being complicit in a web of lies.

“Well, what would you have us do? Tell him his Highland labourer took it upon himself to endanger his prized colt?”

“Took it upon myself?!” Jamie felt his shame, fear and vexation congeal into raw fury. “Ye damn near goaded me tae break tha’ horse, woman. An’ now ye expect me tae cower behind yer skirts like I’m the one who’s tae blame! I’d sooner swing from my own noose, ye meddlin’ wee besom!”

As his voice rose, so did the twin flames in Claire’s fierce gaze. By the time she reacted, he could practically feel their heat singeing his skin. The tray of food landed with a crash on the floor between them.

“You are a foolish boy, Jamie Fraser.”

With those damning words and a swish of her skirts, Claire left him alone with his self-recrimination and a pile of broken crockery.

#my writing #outlander #fanfiction

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madtoreachformore · 1 year

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hello!!! i've recently gotten into islander the music and you're literally like one of the 3 people on tumblr who's ever posted about it!! I haven't been able to see it live so im desperate to hear anything about it, especially the plot since I can't find a script or anything so i've just been trying to piece it all together myself !! i'd be so forever grateful if you'd tell me anything you know about this amazing musical !!!!!

hey! I’m always so glad to see people interested in this little whale show. as for the plot, I’ll try my best to explain it without going all over the place and becoming confusing, so bear with me because it's long lol

character wise, whoever plays Eilidh also plays Breagha, a few villagers and the whales, and whoever plays Arran also plays Eilidh’s mom, the radio announcer, Jenny, Eilidh’s Gran, a few villagers and the whales.

the show starts with two people walking on stage and they sing “The Splitting of the Islands”. then they start splitting into different characters, with the radio announcer speaking about the bad weather and announcing this community gathering to discuss whether the villagers should leave the island or stay.

they then sing “There Is A Whale” and Eilidh sees a dying whale calf on the shore (the way they play the whale is that one of them makes whale sounds over the mic and the person interacting with the whale talks to an empty space in the middle of the stage) but she has no way of helping it and when she tries to leave to get help, the calf sings to her and she sings back to it until it dies.

they jump into singing “Video Call”, where Eilidh speaks with her mom, who has left the island and now lives on the mainland in order to work. Eilidh resents her mom for leaving and their relationship is strained. the following scene is Eilidh speaking with Jenny, a marine biologist who comes to the island to study their flora. Jenny is collecting the whale calf and bringing it to the mainland. Eilidh sees Jenny as a friend, but Jenny is somewhat dismissive of her due to being so busy with work.

Eilidh then goes back home to get her Gran so they can go to the village gathering. her Gran likes playing dead and scaring Eilidh; they talk about the whale calf that Eilidh found on the shore, and they go to the gathering, where they welcome all the villagers and discuss leaving the island due to lack of jobs and tourism, or staying and trying to make a living (“Spikkin”).

it then jumps back to the radio announcer going over the bad weather for the following week. they sing “There Is A Girl” while the actors set up the stage for the next scene, where Eilidh meets Arran who was washed up by the shore. Arran is a finfolk and doesn’t know anything about humans and land. Eilidh isn’t aware that Arran isn’t human and thinks she’s just a shipwrecked foreign person that lives at sea, and they sing “Same but Different”, where Eilidh ends up getting mad at Arran for thinking she’s making up stories and making fun of her for being an island girl. they argue and she leaves Arran, storming out of the old school building they’re in. they both sing “Finfolk Song”.

Eilidh goes back home where her Gran pranks her again pretending to be dead. they talk about Arran and Gran believes she is a finfolk and could have been friends with the whale calf Eilidh found at the beach, and Eilidh leaves again to find Arran.

meanwhile, Arran is still at the old school building, and Breagha walks in. she’s a heavily pregnant young villager and very skeptical of Arran at first. Breagha’s baby is constantly kicking her and she’s in pain and uncomfortable. Arran sings a lullaby (called “Blessing”, it’s not on the cast recording) to help calm down the baby, but she cries while singing it. Breagha thinks she’s upset because she can’t go back to the mainland due to the ferry being broken, but Arran confesses that she’s upset because she hurt her people and she can’t go back to them. Breagha gives her some advice and they walk back to the village to find Eilidh.

they sing another song to the same tune of "Spikkin" as villagers, talking about the festival and the vote they have to take in order to stay or leave the island, while Eilidh and Gran look for Arran, and Arran and Breagha try to find Eilidh. the two girls eventually reunite, and Eilidh sings the song the whale calf sang to her to Arran to find out if she’s really a finfolk. Arran recognizes the song and they talk about the whale - Arran was her keeper. Eilidh apologizes for doubting Arran and they agree to become friends.

Arran confesses the finfolk left her and she’ll stay on the island, Eilidh is delighted with the news until her mom leaves her a voicemail (“Answerphone”). Eilidh deletes the message and takes Arran to the festival instead, but they move outside due to the noise. Eilidh’s mom keeps trying to call her, but she ignores the calls, attempting to teach Arran how to dance instead. Arran asks why she’s ignoring her mom and Eilidh gets defensive and tries to change the topic. she asks why Arran left the finfolk and Arran confesses that the whale calf died because of her so she ran away. Eilidh’s phone rings again, but instead of her mom, it’s Breagha calling to tell her Gran had passed.

Eilidh stands in the middle as villagers give her their condolences. her mom shows up on the island for the funeral but Eilidh doesn’t want to talk to her and runs away. Arran finds her and Eilidh shares her plan of running away and Arran tries to convince her to stay. they both hear Jenny getting ready to leave for the mainland with Breagha as she’s about to give birth, and Eilidh asks to come with. Arran tries to tell Breagha it’s dangerous to be out at sea at that moment, but Breagha ignores her. Jenny begrudgingly allows the two of them to come on the boat.

the actors start to narrate what happens when they’re at sea with bits of dialogue in it. a storm comes in but it’s too late to go back to the island, and a wave flips their boat, causing them all to fall into the water. Eilidh starts singing the whale song in a panic, with Arran joining in when she realizes what she’s doing. a whale appears and rescues them, bringing them back to the island’s shore. they sing “There Is A (Baby) Girl”.

Arran talks to the whale afterward - it’s the calf’s mother, and Arran apologizes for her mistakes and for running away. she sings the whale song and the whale eventually sings it back, indicating Arran is forgiven and allowed to come back.

Eilidh meets Arran after the whale leaves, and they talk. Arran asks Eilidh to come live with her and the finfolk, but Eilidh declines and says she has to figure things out with her mom. they say goodbye, promise to meet each other again in the following year, and hug. the show ends with them singing “New Horizons”.

feel free to reach out if you have any other questions about the show or the plot, I'm not sure how confusing this will be to visualize to someone that hasn't seen the stage version lol

#islander musical

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quotemadness · 6 years

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I hate small talk. I want to talk about atoms, death, aliens, sex, magic, intellect, the meaning of life, faraway galaxies, music that makes you feel different, memories, the lies you’ve told, your flaws, your favourite scents, your childhood, what keeps you up at night, your insecurities and fears. I like people with depth, who speak with emotion from a twisted mind.

Breagha Young

#Breagha Young #quotes #quote #lit #literature

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thequotejournals · 7 years

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Breagha Young

#breagha young #lit #quotes #words #prose #life quotes #life #book quotes #library #bibliophile #wordsnquotes #quote #literature #reading #books #thequotejournals

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themotivationjournals · 7 years

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Breagha Young

#breagha young #lit #quotes #prose #words #inspiration #motivation #positive #life #inspirational #motivational #life quotes #wordsnquotes #feelings #emotions #wisdom #truth

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paperboatsthings · 4 years

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„Ich hasse Smalltalk. Ich möchte über den Sinn des Lebens, Sex, Erinnerungen, Musik, die dich bewegt, deine Lügen und Fehler, deine Kindheit, die Gründe für deine schlaflosen Nächte, deine Unsicherheiten und Ängste sprechen. Ich mag Menschen mit Tiefgang, die aus der Emotion, fernab von ihrer Fassade, sprechen.“

Breagha Young

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renee-writer · 5 years

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Temporary Home Chapter 26 A Good Talking

They drift for a bit after in post-coiletal bliss. He rolls off of her after a few minutes and lays breathlessly beside her. She rolls over and finds a place against his chest right over his heart. The reassuring, thump thump thump, of it lures her to sleep for a bit.

She wakes, an unknown time later, when she feels his hand running through her hair. "Sorry, mo chaileagan dunn. I've wanted to run my hands through yer hair since I meet ye."

"This?" She laughs as her own hair reaches up to touch love-making disrupted hair.

"Aye. Yer hair is absolutely beautiful."

"Do you need glasses, Fraser?"

"Nae, I've eyes like a hawk. Always have. Ye dinna see yer own beauty."

"I..ahhh suppose ye may be right. My ex..he..well it took a lot of time to rebuild my self-confidence. I guess I am still working on that."

"Aye, Claire," she sits up a bit and the sheet drops from her chest. She starts to pull it back up. His hand stops her. "Dinna please. Tha thu cho breagha. Truly Claire. I will always tell ye the truth. Ye can have yer secrets. All lasses do. All lads too. But I promise to always tell ye the truth. Will ye do the same?"

"I will."

"So ye can believe me when I tell ye that ye are beautiful." He reaches up and cups her breast causing the nipple to harden. "Every bit of ye. They are naught to small."

"How did you know what I was thinking?"

"Ye have a glass face Claire. All ye think goes across it. Anyone truly watching can see."

"And you are watching?"

"I have been watching since I meet ye."

"Why me? I mean, I feel it, this pull between us. The connection. Do you know what it is? I have never felt anything like it."

He grins and sits up pulling her back up against his side. "Weel, my da told my that when I found the one that I would just ken. There would be nae doubt. I thought him a auld fool. I was but ten and three at the time. It seemed just something he would say to keep me from sampling the local lasses lips." She laughed against his side.

"Did it?"

"Nae. But, I did keep it in mind. Even when I did more then kiss. When I laid with my first lass, Eloise, I wondered. It was good but, that connection wasna there. I was still looking. He was right, my da. I ken'd it when I meet yer eyes for the first time. Dinna even need to kiss ye or shag ye."

"But, you didnt know me."

"Ye dinna feel it?" He asks taken her hand and placing it over his heart as he places his own over hers. "Ye dinna feel yer heart yearning for mine?"

"Oh bloody hell, I did. I couldn't and still don't understand it. But, yes I did."

"We were made for each other. Tis as simple as that."

"Simple," her hand began to stroke up running through the soft auburn hair on his chest. "None of this feels simple."

"The falling in love was simple. The future may be a bit more complex." He admits.

"And the past." He captures her exploring hand and lifts it to his lips kissing each of her fingers. Her breathing begins to get labored. He smiles before drawing one into his mouth sucking gently.

"Jamie, tell me about your family." The feelings he was rousing in her body and heart were so powerful that she had to distract them both. He chuckles.

"How many generations back?"

"Your parents for now."

"My mam meet my da in upper school. It was like it was for us. A deep connection at first sight. They went out on their first date three days later. And were inseparable after. She graduated the year after he did. He went to a local uni to stay close to her. Even though his parents wanted him to go somewhere else. He wouldn't leave her. Within weeks of graduating, they were engaged. Their families still dinna want them married. Said they were to young. So, my mam got with bairn. My brother William, who everyone calls Willie, was born four months after they were married."

"Love found a way."

"It always does. What about yer parents? How did they meet?"

"They were a bit older then your parents. Already through uni. My mum was working as a florist. My dad came in to buy a bouquet for a date. He never went on. He asked my mum out instead. I don't know more. What I know is only from my Uncle Lamb."

"I am sorry."

She shrugs. "Jamie, do you want to adopt Fergus?" He stares at her. "I know it is early. We still have to try and find a relative. But, if we can't.."

"I would love to adopt the lad. If, he is adoptable, I surely want him."

"Good."

"Claire, do ye want bairns?"

"I do. It is just..Jamie, before we go farther you should know I...ahhh..I am not sure I can have a baby."

"Ohhh?"

"We tried. And well I never caught once."

"It may be because ye weren't with the wrong man. But," he lifts his hand when she goes to speak. " but, if ye canna quicken then we can built our family another way. It is ye Claire. Not what yer womb can or canna produce. Ye are the One. I canna see my life without ye in it. Tha gaol agam ort." He whispers against her lips before taken them, kissing her soundly.

"What does it mean? The Ghaildhig?"

"I love you."

#my writing #jamie and claire #cannon divergence #outlander fanfic #the angst one.#jamie and fergus #tempory home #claire and fergus #a good talking #family #history #the future

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