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Prodigal Son

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Outside Saratoga Springs, NY

September 1979

Claire Beauchamp Randall Fraser, as she liked to think of herself, was hot, tired, and cranky. The humidity hung thick in the air, sweat clinging to her skin. In fact, it felt as though everything was clinging to her skin; clothes, dust, even the smells of so many bodies crowded into one place. She sat down on a bench and sighed, taking in the scene before her. It was mid September, but the afternoon sun partially blinded her, so she had to lift a hand to her forehead and squint in order to bear keeping her eyes open. “Bloody well can’t believe I left my sunglasses at the hotel,” she muttered to herself, for perhaps the millionth time that day.

“Talking to yourself again, Mama?” 

Claire’s hand rose to her chest and she jumped. “Christ, you really shouldn’t sneak up on people, Bree.” Brianna giggled and let go of Roger’s hand to place it on her mother’s shoulder. She moved one long finger, frowning slightly as she collected a bead of sweat that had run down Claire's neck.

“Mama, you look tired. And I know that this isn’t really your thing. Why don’t you take the car and go back to the hotel and rest? Or go do something you enjoy. You’ve been traipsing around with us all week. You’ve been a trooper; we can manage without you for an afternoon.”

Claire sighed and stretched her legs. It was all true. This vacation to upstate New York had been Bree and Roger’s idea, and it was no wonder. A trip to visit old military forts and battlegrounds was the perfect getaway for a pair of historians, but Claire had already seen, had already lived , enough history for a lifetime.

Still, she had agreed to go along because it was their last chance to spend time together at home before Roger stole her daughter away to England. “No, Beauchamp,” Claire quickly lectured herself. “Stop thinking about it like that. You love Roger. Bree loves Roger.” 

This was part of growing older, she supposed, along with the new crick in her back, the ankle that always seemed to swell when she stood on her feet for too long, the gray that had infiltrated her formerly brown, unruly curls. All of this and her only daughter, “Only living daughter,” she corrected herself, falling in love and leaving to start a new life. It was a good thing, a natural thing. Those words formed a mantra that she repeated over and over in her mind, and yet, she could already feel the hole boring into her heart. 

“Hello? Mama, are you with us?” Bree's light-hearted voice pulling her back to the moment.

Claire turned her head and gave the couple a small smile. The sunlight sparkled off Bree's red curls and Claire had to take an extra moment to steady herself. My God, you are so like your father. 

“You’re right. I’m tired. I think I’ll go back to the hotel and take a rest. Maybe when the sun starts to set, it will cool off a little and I can take a walk someplace with a little more grass and a lot less dust,” she said, looking around at the bare ground surrounding the visitor's center, clearly having been trampled by day after day of summer tourists. Even as she watched, the footprints left by those gone by were replaced by others, tracks covered over and over again. She blinked, realizing she had once again become lost in the confines of her own mind, and refocused her attention toward her family. “How will you get back?”

“Och, dinna fash yerself, Claire,” Roger replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. Claire smiled, as she always did when Roger spoke to her in his melodic Scots. “The hotel said they had shuttles. If ye’ don’t mind, sign us up on the list for pick up at 4. That’ll give us time to get back and changed in time for dinner.”


Claire walked to the car, grateful to be getting out of the unusually hot September sun, feeling relieved to have some time to herself. The relief was accompanied by a touch of guilt, but not quite enough to change her mind about seeking some solitude. She was someone who appreciated, craved, alone time; needed it to survive. Each of the last five days had been spent with the happy couple, listening to their conversations in the car, trailing along behind them as they visited historic sites, and offering her opinions on items when they took a detour and went shopping. Each night the trio had lingered over dinner and drinks, staying up much too late, savoring each other’s company, with the unspoken knowledge that it would likely be a long time before they would able to do something like this again. It was important and it made her happy, but there was no denying that it was cutting into the peace and quiet that she desperately needed to feel like herself once more. 

She took a glance in the mirror, quickly determined there was no hope for the curly mass on her head in this heat, took quick stock of the number of wrinkles in the corners of her golden eyes, and started the car, slowly backing out of the parking spot. She was slightly turned around but confident that she could follow the winding Battlefield Road until she got back to the main highway. 

As she turned onto the narrow, paved road, she forced herself to feel happiness for Bree. Her little girl was not so little anymore, almost thirty-one years old now, high time to finally settle down; Roger was eight years her senior and Claire knew he would be eager to start a family now that Brianna had finally finished her Doctorate. She smiled, thinking of how proud Frank would have been when Brianna called with the news that her thesis had been accepted; that her hard work had paid off, that she was finally done. “Dr. Brianna Wakefield.” They were a family full of MDs and PhDs and her heart swelled with pride, though the pleasant thoughts were quickly drowned out by heavy memories, a sharp pang in her chest and dread in the pit of her stomach as the voice in her head reminded her, “Not all of you.” Your father would have been proud, too. 

Turning her focus back to the road, Claire realized that, while she had gotten further and further away from the visitor’s center, she also didn’t seem to be getting any closer to the main road. No bother, she thought to herself. It was all one big loop; she would eventually find her way to one of the landmarks, the main road, or even back to where she began.

“Ye always were terrible with directions, Sassenach.” 

The voice rang in her head loud and clear, as if Jamie were sitting right beside her in the passenger seat. She took a deep shaking breath and forced herself to concentrate on the road. 

“Aye, that’s right; you should watch where yer goin’, driving around in this death trap. If yer no careful, ye’ll wind up in a ditch.”  

Claire sighed, rolled her eyes at her long dead husband, and continued to ignore him. The older she got, the more he seemed to visit her, his presence haunting her dreams at night and following her around like a relentless spirit in the day. “Probably because I get closer to being with him every day,” she thought dryly. She chuckled to herself then, thinking of how much Jamie would hate riding in a car, how sick he would likely be from the motion. The two boat trips she had taken with him had been agony for him – and for Claire by extension.  

Her heart caught in her throat as she thought of the child she had been carrying in her belly on the trip to France, the child whom she did not carry in her arms when they had returned to Scotland. Faith

“Aye, I think of her too, still, Sassenach. Ye’ll no’ ever get over the loss of a child.” 

Claire shook her head vigorously, as if she could forcefully remove the memories from her mind and directed all her attention on the road again, looking for any sign that would point her in the direction she needed to go. Christ, for all she knew, she had been driving in circles while she daydreamed about her dead husband and child. “Pull yourself together, Beauchamp. This is the last time I’m going to tell you.”

She saw a small sign about fifty feet ahead and slowed the car. Squinting, she had forgotten her driving glasses at the hotel too, she inched up toward the sign. “Direction of Fraser’s Forces,” it read, with an arrow pointing to the left. “Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ,” she muttered under her breath. She sat there idling for a few moments, trying to decide what to do before she swung the car to the left and followed the arrow.

It wasn’t that she had any particular interest in General Fraser and his forces. She already knew, from Bree and Roger' research into the Fraser family, that he had been a kinsman to Jamie, some distantly related cousin. And it certainly wasn’t that she had any interest in seeing another battlefield. It was just that, on days like these, when she felt surrounded by ghosts, it was easier not to fight it. Better to just give in to the universe’s way of forcing her to remember. 

The road narrowed until she reached an empty parking lot, covered in gravel that crunched beneath the rubber tires as she pulled her car off to one side. There was a small path ahead, surrounded by high, vibrant grass. She should have just turned around and tried to find the main road once more, but her botanist’s heart led the way. As if her body was acting on its own, she grabbed her basket and scissors, locking the car door behind her. 

The uneven, dirt path was just wide enough for two people to walk side by side comfortably and there were worn, informational signs resting on posts sporadically along the path. Claire ignored these and kept her eye out for any herbs or flowers that might be interesting or serve a medicinal purpose. She was concentrating so hard on the task at hand that she hadn’t even noticed that she was no longer on the path. She took one step, then another, before she noticed the low buzzing sound surrounding her. As the noise grew louder, she paused and turned in a circle to see if there was a swarm of bees nearby. Seeing nothing, she shook her head, trying to get her bearings, wondering for a moment if she was falling victim to a sudden onslaught of tinnitus. The rational side of her mind calmed her momentarily, enabling her to absent-mindedly take a few more steps, until a realization had her heart leaping into her throat. Her body knew the sound before her mind even registered it: standing stones, and close by. 

Taking a deep breath, Claire quickly turned around to head back to the path. As she did, her foot caught in a small divot and her ankle twisted beneath her. “Dammit that’s my bad ankle,” she thought as she went down, basket and scissors flying out of her grasp. The sound of the stones filled her body, vibrating, a siren song calling to her, their power drawing her in. She needed to get the hell out of this place as quickly as possible, but the moment she tried to stand up, even the slightest bit of pressure on her foot caused pain to shoot up her leg. She winced, squeezing her eyes shut and taking deep and measured breaths in an attempt to center herself. Just as the pain was finally abating and her heartbeat was steadying, through her closed eyes, she saw a bright flash of light as the air filled with a cacophony, as if the world’s largest lego had accidentally been sucked up into an industrial vacuum hose.

And then…silence.

The buzzing was gone, and the air was completely still. Claire slowly opened her eyes and blinked. As the spots cleared from her vision, she saw a figure standing about fifty feet away, silhouetted by the sun. 

He was tall, that much she could tell, taller than Bree’s six feet by several inches at the very least. He appeared to be frozen for a moment, a dark frame with no discernable features, a lean muscular build set against the sky, until a cloud passed over the sun. Claire could not hold back the choking gasp that escaped as she saw Jamie’s chiseled jawline, complete with a slight cock of his head. She closed her eyes again, willing herself to wake up. She must have hit her head when she fell. That was the only logical explanation. 

When she opened her eyes, he had moved closer to her. He still stood at a respectable distance, but now she could see his features clearly: blue cat eyes peering out under a tricorn hat, a long straight nose set between broad cheekbones. Her gaze shifted down, drawn by the glimmer of an Officer's gorget resting on a red uniform coat. At this sight, she choked on a scream, trying to scramble to her feet like a crab scurrying away from a predator, only to have lightning shoot up her leg from foot to hip bone, paralyzing her. At that, the scream let loose and the white orbs that had been hovering in the corners of her vision darkened and spread.

When she was able to open her eyes once more, he was inches from her face. She drew her breath in and didn’t let it out. A chestnut curl was peeking out of his hat, just above his left eye.

And then he spoke, and she heard not the broad, lilting tone of the Highlands, but a polished, crisp accent of London. 

“Are you all right madam?”

Chapter Text

Claire had still not let her breath out. Standing before her was simultaneously Jamie and not Jamie. How was this possible? As her vision began to fade at the edges again, she forced her breath out and then slowly back in.

Every fiber in her body thrummed in a visceral reaction to seeing him, but as she slowly regained her composure, logic crept in. The man who stood before her, though lean and muscular like Jamie, was much more slender, with that vague sense of teenage awkwardness still emanating from his features.  His head was covered by his tricorn and the small curl that peaked out from under the brim was a deep chestnut, not the flaming read that Brianna had inherited from her father. And of course there was the red officer's uniform and English accent.

Get a hold of yourself, Beauchamp.

Any normal person would assume she was looking at a reenactor, someone whose hobby, or perhaps even job, was to walk around in Revolutionary War uniforms, doing a terrible job of staying in character. But Claire knew better. The thrum of the stones echoed in her body and she could still see the flash of light that had blinded her through her closed lids.

"Madam? Are you injured?" His voice pierced through her whirling mind. 

Slowly she focused her senses, clearing her throat, gone dry. "Well yes, I suppose I am, Mr…?"

"Lord Ellesmere," he said formally, with a bow.

Definitely not a reenactor.

"Can I offer you some assistance, Mrs….?" he went on.

"Randall. Doctor Randall." Claire answered, attempting to sound calm, but her nerves betrayed her and her answer came out curt, "I don't know that you can, Lord Ellesmere. I seem to have injured my ankle and, unless you are planning to carry me out of here, I'm not sure there is much you can do."

The young man stood back, contemplating. Claire marveled at the deep brooding look of concentration on his face; he looked quite uncannily like Jamie had looked any time he was considering something carefully, placing one hand under his chin, his mouth set in a straight line. "Well, I suppose then I will have to do just that," he said in a tone indicating that the matter was closed.

This was all getting away from Claire too quickly and she needed to think. This young man, this Lord, was most surely in the wrong time, and it was obvious to Claire that he had no clue what had happened. "Why are you out here all alone?" she asked.

He stiffened slightly. “I could ask the same of you.” Something about his tone was strange; not suspicious, but more patronizing. Christ, she thought, realization dawning on her, He’s treating me like I’m an old woman. Hmmmph.

She pulled her upper body up as straight as possible. “Well, I was just collecting some plants, that’s all.”

“Madam,” his tone sounding more exasperated by the minute, “Do you really think the meadows surrounding an army encampment are the safest place to pick flowers?”

There it was. All the confirmation she needed. This young soldier had no idea that he had just traveled through time. How did it not have affect him? How could he stand there so calm and whole? Both times she had gone through the stones, her body had felt as though it was being torn apart and imploding simultaneously. It had taken her hours to regain consciousness.

Where to even begin with this stranger? How was she going to explain to him where he was, when he was? “You must have strayed rather far from the camp, don’t you think? It certainly doesn’t sound like there is an army nearby.”

“It appears you have me at a disadvantage, Madam. I am afraid that I am a little lost myself. I had wandered off for a little while, just to get away from all the….the…everything,” he paused, taking a deep breath. “I sat down on a stone to rest and then a…..a…..cannon must have been shot off. I saw a bright flash of light and I couldn’t hear anything. I came to beside what I thought was the same stone I had been sitting on, but I suppose it must have been a different one, because nothing around me is the same.”

“Lord Ellesmere –“ Claire began.

“Please,” he interrupted, his voice betraying the slightest shake. “Please, call me William, Dr Randall.”

“Well then, you may call me Claire. Agreed? Good. I need to tell you something, and you are not going to believe what I have to tell you. It isn't going to make any sense, and you may think me mad after the telling, but I ask only for one thing.” He nodded, examining her face. “Trust me. You don’t have to believe me, but I do need you to trust me. Does that sound like something you can do?”

He gave another slow nod, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

“Good, then. Listen carefully. You are not near your army camp. Look around; do you see any sign of an impending battle?" She paused at this point, allowing him to take in his surroundings. "The stone you sat on, were there other stones around it? In a circle?"

He nodded slightly. His face had gone pale and she could see that his breathing was becoming shallow.

"Today is September 15, 1979," she said firmly, ripping the band-aid off.

His face went through several contortions before it settled on a neutral, firm look. He cleared his throat, "Yes, well,  Dr. Randall. Let's see about getting you home."

She could tell that he was patronizing her again, but she didn't argue; knowing the truth would be plain to him soon enough. "I think, if you help me up and support me, I can manage to hobble a bit."

He reached out a large hand and she placed her smaller one on it. A warmth flooded over her as she remembered the feel of Jamie’s hand, so much like the one that now grasped hers firmly, her body remembering the feeling of safety. She placed her other hand on the ground and hoisted her good leg so that the foot was ready to bear all her weight. Pausing to ensure her balance, she gripped the hand harder, feeling his own muscles tense as he gently pulled. With considerable effort she managed to get herself upright.

"Madame, do you mind if I…." his voice trailed off and she realized he was noticing her clothing for the first time. She ignored this and placed the toe of her injured foot to the ground to test its limits. There was only mild protest, so she started ahead in a slow, half-hop, half shuffle. William gripped her firmly, allowing her to hold his free hand, gripping for balance, guiding her and ensuring she did not fall.

They moved this way in silence for some time. When she stopped to catch her breath, the young soldier - showing no signs of tiring himself - asked, "How much farther to your home?"

"Oh," she said dismissively. "My home is nowhere near here. But my car is parked just a bit more ahead." No use beating around the bush.

He turned his head and gave her a puzzled look, his brow furrowed momentarily. "Right, let's forge ahead then."

They hobbled in silence again, though Claire’s mind was racing. Who was this young man who looked so much like Jamie? When did he come from? What on earth was she going to do with him?

Finally they reached the edge of the path. Her car sat where she had left it. Claire saw the veneer of William's face begin to crack. "What -" he croaked. But before he could stutter another word, a car pulled slowly into the parking lot, the rumble of the motor low and steady. Claire glanced at William and watched all the color drain from his face. She could feel him begin to sway.

"Oh no you don't," she said sternly, grabbing him by the chin and turning his face to hers. "You are not going to faint. Do you hear me? If you go down,  I won't stand a chance. Do you hear me?"

"Yes," he breathed.


Claire maneuvered the car carefully down the Battlefield Road, never breaking 20 miles per hour. William's face had regained some color, though lime green wasn't exactly an improvement. She glanced at him, one arm gripping the handle of the door tightly, the other pressed against the ceiling. Well, now I know for sure how Jamie would react to a car ride.

"Listen," she said, "it's going to be okay. I'm going to take you back to my hotel and we'll get you sorted out. My daughter and her husband, they know about the time travel, too. We can help you." She looked to her right again and saw in his eyes that he was listening, even if he didn't reply.

Finally she pulled back into the visitor center's parking lot. "We'll wait here for them. They should be back looking for the hotel shuttle soon." A pause. "William, I know this is a lot to take in. Trust me, I have been there." She reached her hand over and pulled his arm down, putting his hand.

He licked his lips and spoke, slowly. "So you're telling me that you time traveled to the 1740s and then came back to the 1970s?" She had given him the general outlines of her experience with the stones as they had set out in the car.

"Well, yes and no. I traveled from 1945 and came back in 1948. It was a very long time ago." Though the pain still feels fresh on many days.

"Can I...go back?"

"I suspect so, but I don't know if it's safe to go back through right away."

He looked down at his lap. "What will I do until I know it's safe?"

Claire looked into his eyes, "Don't worry.  You'll be safe with me."

A sudden tap at the window made her jump. Bree stood outside the car door rolling her fist in a circular motion. Claire obliged and rolled down the window. "Mama, who is this?" Bree asked, her voice high pitched and urgent. Roger stood behind her, worry etched in his forehead.

"Brianna, Roger, this is Lord --"

"William," he interrupted. "William Ransom."

"Get in," Claire said dryly. "We have a lot to talk about."

Chapter Text

As soon as they got back to the hotel, Claire wrapped her ankle, but it was already starting to feel better after a dram whisky. That taken care of, Claire and Brianna drove downtown to purchase William some appropriate clothing, leaving William with Roger. They shopped in silence for a bit, and then Bree took in a deep breath and said softly "Mama? Roger thinks he looks just like me."

Half of Claire’s mind was a million miles away but she responded, trying her best to sound casual. "Does he? That's interesting."

"Do you think so?" Brianna went on, ignoring her mother's tone, as they began flipping through the racks of clothes. 

"Do you think bell bottoms would work? Claire replied, holding up a pair of pants. 

"Mama, why are you avoiding my question?"

"I'm not avoiding it, Brianna. I just don't know what to say. He does look like you. In fact, if you've ever wanted to see what your father looked like, you finally have the chance," Claire tried to suppress the irritation in her tone as she spoke.

Bree frowned at this. She grabbed a shirt off a rack and walked over to Claire to pair it with the pants in her hands. "What does it mean, Mama? Is he related to me… my father?" She choked a little on her last words. 

"I don't know how he could be." Claire grabbed some more everyday clothing, eyeing it carefully as she spoke. "When he first introduced himself, he said his name was Lord Elesmere. And he's clearly English. How on earth could an English Lord have any connection to Jamie?" 

Bree was deep in thought as she grabbed some socks and undergarments. "How old did he say he was?"

"Nineteen, almost twenty. And I know what you are thinking Bree. I've already done the math. He was born two years after the last trace we found of Jamie. Besides, even if Jamie left Ardsmuir alive, he most likely was sent to the Colonies with the rest of the prisoners. This young man was obviously British-born. Taking into account all of that and the fact that there is no possible way for a convicted traitor from Scotland to be that closely related to an English peer, it just isn't possible." Bree frowned and a hint of tears glistened in her eyes. Claire threw the clothing she had gathered over one arm and put the other around her daughter's waist. "Look," she continued quietly, "it gave me one hell of a shock when I first saw him too. Perhaps there is a distant relation. I don't know. Maybe we'll find out, but I also know that he seems a rather sensitive young man who has obviously been through a lot. I am not going to press him with questions about his lineage right now."

"But -"

Claire cut her off. "Bree, if I had any reason to believe that there was an actual connection to your father, I would ask. You know I - " she took a deep breath, steadying her voice. The pain she felt was acute, different from the lingering, chronic pain she lived with daily.  "You know I would do anything to find out if he left Ardsmuir alive, for your sake as much as for mine." Tears clung to her lower lashes, threatening to fall if she so much as blinked. "But I've thought all the possibilities through and the best approach for all of us, is not to press him for details that he might not even have." She hugged Brianna then, a few tears escaping, and whispered, "I wish I knew what happened to him too. I think of him all day, every day. The worrying and wondering never stops." 

Bree hugged her mother back, feeling selfish that she had even pushed the subject. As much as it hurt her to think of her biological father and wonder what happened to him, she had never known him. She couldn't miss him in the way her mother so painfully wore on her face each and every day. She wished she could know him with a fervor that sometimes sent her mind into a hurricane of anger and grief and sadness, but it wasn't the same, and it wasn't fair for her to prod at her mother's festering wound because of her own morbid curiosity. She broke from Claire's embrace with a final rub of her mother's back. "You're right mama. Come on. Let's pay for these and go back to the hotel. I'm starving."


Roger had gotten through some of the salient details of William's life with him while Claire and Bree were shopping and he relayed them while William showered and dressed: he was born in the English Lake District in 1758 and become an Earl on the same day of his birth, his father perishing in the aftermath of his mother's death in childbirth. He was raised on his mother's family's estate, Helwater, and later adopted by his Aunt Isobel and her husband. His step-father, Lord John Grey, was made Governor of Jamaica in 1767 and Wiliam and Isobel left England to join him there the following year. Isobel died aboard the ship, leaving Lord John his sole guardian. They left for the Colonies soon after. He later attended boarding school in England before purchasing an Officer's Commission and being sent back to the Colonies as part of the forces that were meant to quell the Revolution. They had been preparing for battle when he had taken a walk away from the encampment and made the unfortunate mistake of sitting on the wrong stone at the wrong time.

Over dinner, they had gotten to know each other, William filling in the smaller details of his life, Roger and Bree discussing their impending move to Oxford, Claire giving the details of her medical career. Roger gave William the broad strokes of the rest of the war William had left behind, the latter having a hard time believing that the British had been bested. They all tried to fill William in on the events of the next two hundred years, all talking over one another in their excitement. Their easy banter and companionability was contagious and William found himself caught up in it, enjoying their company and trying to ask questions when he could get a word in edgewise. 

He was particularly captivated by the lovely Brianna. There was something about her curious eyes and broad smile that put him at ease instantly. He felt a sense of kindred connection to her, a feeling one would be lucky to find in only a few people in their lifetime. Her laughter was contagious and William surprised himself by joining her in it on several occasions, unsure of the last time he had laughed like that. She was a delight to be around and he was disappointed to learn that she would be leaving soon with her Scottish husband. 

The Scot himself was a delightful surprise. An educated man, a professor of history. He had a natural way of storytelling, easily captivating his audience, and the gentle, open manner of a teacher that made you ready to trust him with your life story. William felt a small pang at his easy, instructive manner; it reminded him of Mac, the groom at Helwater who had taught him everything he knew about riding.

Claire was a life-force unto herself and, while he was fascinated by her life story, what he truly wanted to hear about was the three years she left out at dinner. "That is a story best told over whisky," she had said in a hoarse, smoky voice. 

And now the four of them sat, sipping whisky on the terrace of Claire’s hotel room, the cool evening air a relief after the harshness of the day. Claire told him of her travel through the stones - he still had a hard time reconciling that idea -  landing in Scotland in 1743. She had fallen in love with a Highlander named Jamie Fraser. She had followed him into the battles of The Rising of '45 but left to go back to the 20th century before the Battle of Culloden, in order to protect Brianna's safety.

William spoke quietly, "My father and uncle were at Culloden, my step-father that is."

Claire merely gave a soft grunt at that, thinking that subject best not be explored further. 

"So you left? Without knowing whether or not he was dead?" William asked, unable to contain his curiosity.

"Well, yes," Claire replied, taking a deep drink of her whisky. It burned her throat, both soothing and punishing at the same time. "But I did find out later that he survived Culloden. He was imprisoned for a time at Ardsmuir, but when the prison closed we couldn't trace him any further. Eventually I gave up. A very good friend of mine told me a long time ago to not spend my life chasing ghosts, so I made the decision to let him live on in my memories. Once Brianna knew, it was different than before. I had someone I could talk to about him and could finally acknowledge that part of my life. It hasn't been easy, but I feel him with me everyday, and that is a comfort." Her face was a complicated mixture of pain and love.

William cleared his throat "Did you say Ardsmuir?" Claire nodded. "My father was Governor there when it closed." He said this quietly, unsure of what he could possibly say next. 

Roger and Brianna exchanged a sudden, eager look. Claire remained composed outwardly, though the slight tremor of her hand as she put her glass on the table in front of them gave her away. "Is that so?" she replied shakily.

William's voice was agitated, frustration clearly apparent, "I wish I could reach him somehow. I'm sure he would be able to tell you of your husband's fate. He knew the name of every prisoner under his charge." William was proud of his father and the care he took in his duties. 

Claire cleared her throat and looked down at her hands in her lap. "That's the hell of this time travel business," she said quietly, "You can't write a letter or pick up the phone. Your loved ones are simultaneously dead and alive, suspended in time, and there is no way to reach them." She looked up and attempted to erase the pain on her face, forcing a smile, "Well, I'm feeling rather tired. I think I’ll go to bed. William, there are pajamas on the second bed for you when you are ready to retire. Tomorrow we will try to figure out if it's safe or not for you to go back through."

At that she rose, favoring her bad ankle. She limped inside, leaving the three of them so she could escape to her dreams, where Jamie held her close and safe every night.


At breakfast the next morning, Claire was as cool and composed as usual, a sharp contrast to Brianna who looked like she hadn’t slept all night and spoke fervently of her opinion on the safest way to get William back to his own time. Claire could see it in her eyes, the genuine concern she had for this young man, who was not quite a stranger, but unfamiliar all the same. She recognized the look of fierce protection on her daughter's face, had seen it enough time on Jamie's. 

"If we send him back now, he could be dropped right in the middle of gun fire, not even considering the possible effects on the body of going through twice in such a short span of time." She cut a piece of sausage and pointed her knife at William in a manner that almost made Claire laugh. She could see Jamie in her daughter's sense of knowing what was best , not to mention her stubbornness. 

"No. It's too dangerous."

"Be reasonable, Bree," Roger responded. "Ye ken the battle willna start for another three days. If the lad wants tae get back to his men, we should take him today."

William opened up his mouth to speak but Bree cut him off. "You don't know that the time is an exact match, Roger. A few days margin of error is too close for comfort. It's too dangerous." She set her silverware down with an audible clank. "I won't have it."

William again tried to speak, but Claire beat him to it, "I agree we need to be cautious, but there also isn't any reason William should stay here longer than he has to. The worst thing to happen is for his command to assume he has gone MIA. He could be branded a deserter and his life will be in even more danger when he eventually goes back. Besides, I'm sure his family will worry about him."

This time Roger started to speak, but Brianna sent him a look that made him close his mouth again. He turned to William on his right and leaned over to speak to him while Claire and Brianna continued their debate. "Would ye like to go fer a walk? We'll bide while these two decide our fate." William nodded, glad to have an ally. They both excused themselves from the table, eliciting barely a wave from the two women.

Together, they walked out of the dining room and through the quiet hotel lobby, into the morning sun. It was noticeably cooler than the day before and both men breathed in the refreshing air, walking silently around the side of the hotel to a small spot of shaded grass with a bench and some flower beds.  William stood, leaning against a tree and Roger took the bench with a resigned sigh. 

William chuckled, "Never in my life have I seen women with such vehement opinions."

"Aye," Roger replied. "It's a lot more common in this time, I'm sure, than yers, but those two are a unique pair in any time." The love and admiration he had for both was clear not only in his tone, but also on his face. "They have yer best interest at heart, ya ken? Claire, well, she's been through this before, and Brianna…" his voice trailed off. William raised an eyebrow at Roger, urging him to complete his thought. Roger was hesitant, and he sat rubbing his beard for a moment before continuing. "Ye look like her, ya ken? I dinna ken why, but it's obvious to anyone with eyes. She feels a kinship wi' ye, wants to protect ye."

Realization dawned on William's face. He was silent, considering before he spoke. "Yes, I suppose you're right about that. I feel it too, begging your pardon."

Roger waved this away dismissively, "Och, I ken what ye mean." Then, changing the subject, "What do you want to do, William?"

William straightened, clearly determined,  "I want to go back. It's been a wondrous experience seeing all of this," he gestured broadly, "and I have very much enjoyed meeting all of you. But I am eager to lead my men; I have been waiting for this for quite some time. And my father will worry terribly about me."

Roger nodded. "Aye, let's get you ready then. I'll deal with our own Generals here while you get dressed." They turned and walked back to the hotel entrance in silence.


Roger turned the car into the gravel parking lot, dust swirling under the wheels as he put the car in park. William sat in the passenger seat in his soldier's uniform, his gorget around his neck, tricorn in his lap. Claire and Brianna were brooding in the backseat, neither satisfied with the outcome of the morning's debate. Roger saved putting his foot down with them for only the most important matters, so they both knew that he was serious when he told them he was taking William back whether they liked it or not.

"Well then," Roger said, turning off the ignition. "Best get on with it." They exited the car into the sunny day. A gentle breeze whispered through the tall grass as they walked on, somber as a funeral procession.

Claire attributed the pang in her heart to the deep, painful memories of Jamie taking her to the stones at Craigh Na Dun that chilly April morning, knowing she would never see him again. Reliving that day with this young man who looked so much like him was almost too much to bear. 

Brianna was equally pained, telling herself that it was her fear for his safety that made her entire being cry out to him not to go. But if she were being honest with herself, she knew it was more than that. The connection she felt with him ran deep in her bones and she wanted him to stay so she could get to know him better, spend time with him. A single tear ran down her cheek, and she quickly wiped it away before anyone could take notice. 

William and Claire led the way, her ankle still slightly sore to be navigating the rough terrain. He kept one hand on her elbow protectively. Brianna walked with her arms crossed in front; Roger took up the rear. It was not far and soon Brianna broke the silence, "Do you hear that? It sounds like there's a beehive nearby." 

Claire paused, turning around. "It isn’t bees. That's the call of the stones.. You hear that?"

Brianna nodded and Roger spoke, "Aye, I hear it too." 

Claire looked at them both thoughtfully. "I'm certain that means you can travel too," she said. "You must be very careful. The stones can draw you in like a magnet. It's best if we all stand back once we get closer."

They left the path and got as close as Claire determined would be safe. Roger turned to William first, shaking his hand, "It was great to meet you, man. Wish we'd had more time to get know each other." 

William nodded and turned to Brianna. He began to make a bow to her, but she surprised him by putting her hands on his shoulders pressing a gentle kiss against his cheek. He flushed a deep red, and she whispered in his ear, "Please be safe," before turning and walking several feet feet away, her back turned to them.

Claire stood before William, memorizing his face. She held both his hands in hers and gave them a firm squeeze. "Remember, when you touch the stone, you must think of your family. That's the only way we know of to help guide you to the right time," she put her hands to his face, examining it for just a moment longer. "I am so grateful to have met you."

"And I, you, Claire. Thank you all for everything." William gave them all a brief bow and placed his hat on his head, pivoting to follow the buzzing to the stones. Reaching the stone he had sat on, just twenty-four hours before, he looked back at them one last time and smiled. Slowly, deliberately, he sat on the stone and disappeared. 

Chapter Text

Claire stood silent, looking at the empty stone, tears stinging at the back of her eyes. She breathed deeply and turned to face Roger and Brianna. They were both stunned, mouths agape. Despite the unexpected emptiness she felt, she knew it was time to move on. That was one skill she had learned, at the very least.


"All right then, let's go. Nothing more to do here,” Claire said in a crisp, reserved tone. She took two steps toward them before she was startled by the same deafening sound she had heard when William first arrived. A bright flash of light blinded her temporarily and she ducked down instinctively, covering her face with her arms.


Brianna, recovering first, stood and stared ahead.  Sprawled out on the ground near the stone was William. She ran toward him, rushing across the uneven terrain; it was a miracle that she managed to stay afoot given the little stumbles and trips along the way. He was unconscious when she reached him and she knelt beside him, gently tapping the sides of his face. "Mama!" she yelled over her shoulder.


Claire and Roger had gotten their bearings by this time and were moving toward Bree and William. By the time they reached them, William was rolling his head from side to side, eyelids beginning to flutter. Claire knelt next to Brianna and felt his pulse. Steady , she thought. Well that’s one small blessing. “William? William? Can you open your eyes?”


Opening one eye cautiously, he was shocked to see Claire’s face hanging over him, her greying curls grazing his face. He slowly opened the other eye, his long lashes fluttering, and gingerly pushed himself into an upright position “What the devil happened?”


“You didn’t make it through,” Claire replied. 


“That can happen?” His voice was incredulous.


“I’m not exactly an expert, but I suppose it can.”


Brianna reached over and touched William’s face. “Are you ok? What happened?”


William patted himself down, ensuring himself that all his limbs were intact, before replying. “I think I’m all right. I don’t really know. It was nothing like yesterday. I felt like I was spinning out in a dark abyss; I could hear screaming and my body felt like it was being torn apart. And then, I woke up here.”


“Were you thinking about your family?” Claire asked.


He nodded. “What will I do now?”


Claire sighed, her face etched with concern. “I suppose you will have to come back to Boston with me, at least until we can figure out how to get you back."


William reached his arms out to his new family and allowed them to help him to his feet.




They decided to cut the trip short by a couple of days, skipping their excursions to Fort William Henry and Sir William Johnson’s estate. None of them had much of an appetite for more military forts and battlefields anymore. Besides, it would be easier to get William settled once they were back in Boston. 


Roger drove with William riding shotgun in an effort to mitigate his motion sickness. He found that if he ate a bit, it really wasn't so bad, and he was surprised to be enjoying the trip. The music was certainly different than he was accustomed to, but it was a marvel to be able to listen to song after song with no musicians present. The snacks were wonderful too: small hard pretzels dotted with bits of salt, hard sour candies, and wonderful bits of chocolate with a sugary coating. These were called M&Ms , he learned, and he soon found himself indulging in the entire package. Brianna taught him car games and they played several rounds of "The Minister's Cat," and "I Spy." 


They stopped at a McDonald's for dinner about an hour outside Boston. They all ordered hamburgers and French fries, and Brianna insisted that William try a chocolate milk shake.  Her bright blue eyes stared at him in anticipation. She laughed with delight at the expression that morphed across his features, eyes widened in what could only be described as child-like wonder as he tasted the frothy liquid for the first time.


They must have looked, to any outsiders, like brother and sister. Claire was mesmerized by their easy manner with each other and their identical lopsided grins. Both so much like Jamie, she thought, and her heart ached as a vision of him directing that impish smile at her came to mind. This was interrupted only by a quiet, nagging voice that began taking root in the back of her thoughts and she was now actively working to ignore it. It isn’t possible, she told herself over and over again. Still. William leaned back in his chair, a quiet burp slipping out. Dismayed, he put his hand to his mouth and cried, “Oh, pardon me!” 


They all laughed, and Claire’s haunted mind came back to the present. She cleared her throat. "When we get back to Boston, perhaps William can be of some use helping you get the last of your apartment packed up and your belongings shipped off." 


Roger nodded in agreement. "Aye. It would be a great help and while we're packing, I can gi’ ye some more history lessons. And maybe you can fill me in on some of the details I'm missing." 


"Don't listen to him," Bree interjected. "He doesn't even get the names of the American generals right half the time! If you want to know about the Revolution, I'm the scholar to speak to."


Roger playfully stuffed a French fry in her mouth. "Ye ken he's English? He's no’ going to want to hear about being beaten by the rebels. He'll want English history, and she is not the one to ask about that."


William laughed. "I take it you have different specialties."


"I grew up in Boston," Bree replied. "It was inevitable that I would specialize in early Colonial America. Roger's specialty is actually Scottish history, but I suppose he dabbles in English history a bit."


"Did you meet at University?" William asked, his eyes wide with interest.

"Och, no. Brianna's father was a good friend of my adoptive father. When the Reverend, my father that is, passed, Claire and the young Brianna came to pay their respects and, well, the rest is history!"


Brianna and Claire both groaned at his joke, but William looked puzzled. "Your father? But I thought..." he trailed off, a small furrow forming between his brows as he tried to connect the dots in his mind.


"Brianna was raised by my late husband Frank," Claire offered. "It's rather complicated, obviously, but we were married before I went… to Scotland." She lowered her voice. "When I came back, he chose to raise Brianna as his own. He was also a history scholar, specializing in the Jacobites."


"I see," William said thoughtfully.  "I suppose the three of us have something in common, then."


"What's that?" Bree asked. 


"We were all raised by men who weren't our biological fathers."


"Well, you can count me in that club as well," Claire replied. "I was raised by my Uncle Lamb after my parents died in a car accident."


The jovial mood broken, they finished the last bites of their meal and headed back to the car, a quartet of orphans. 




They reached Boston after nightfall. William stared out the car window, astonished by the lights and activity of the city. He had been to Boston recently, in 1777, and he had a hard time reconciling the two. 


Claire dropped Bree and Roger off first, promising them she would bring William by in the morning. After the car doors were closed and Claire had watched them enter the apartment safely, she drove off.  Without their endless commentary and jovial banter, the silence in the car was deafening. Finally, William spoke up. "I can't thank you enough for helping me. Your kindness is overwhelming.”


"Well, I certainly couldn't leave you alone. Besides, I know what you are going through. I'm probably one of the only people who does." Claire’s voice trailed off as she drummed her fingers on the steering wheel.


"I'm sorry if this is bringing up painful memories," William said quietly.


Claire was struck by how perceptive he was and what a kind heart he had. She pulled the car into her driveway and put it in park, leaning back on the seat with a sigh. "It's all right. The memories are there regardless. It's something I must carry with me." 





The next morning, Claire dropped William off with Brianna and Roger as promised. Since they had cut their trip short, she still had a few days’ vacation left before she had to be back at work. 


She really needed to get the house cleaned and in order, but instead she found herself in the attic rifling through old boxes, trying to find the journal of Gillian Edgars. 


After she had abandoned her search for Jamie, she had packed everything up and placed it in a box in the attic, locking the physical evidence away, as if that could lock away the memories in her mind. She was foolish to think she could ever keep the ghosts at bay. Time had proven this and if anything, she felt Jamie's presence more keenly now than she had all those years ago. True, she had felt the pain of the loss of him more acutely then compared to her current dull ache. But as the years passed, she began to feel happiness for her memories of him. The ever-present sense of him with her always was growing even stronger these past few days, since she had met William.


Claire rifled through several bins, raising dust into the air, dancing across the beams of light shining in through the attic window. She covered her mouth and nose with her hand in a vain attempt to not breath it in.  


Several boxes contained what was left of Frank's research. Claire lifted one of the moleskin notebooks to her nose. It smelled of pipe smoke and spilled whisky. She could see him, bent over his desk late at night, taking notes, composing letters. Oh Frank, she thought, one tear escaping and traveling down her cheek. What life would we have led if we never taken that second Honeymoon? Would she have been happy, fulfilled, never knowing what it was to find the other half of your soul? She wouldn't change anything if given the chance, but she couldn't help but wonder if ignorance was bliss.


Moving along, she came across a box of old toys. Reaching in, she felt the soft, worn fur of bunny, Brianna's favorite toy all those years ago. She pulled bunny out and caressed her cheek with it. Of course ignorance wasn't bliss. If she'd never met Jamie, she wouldn't have Bree, and that thought was too painful to contemplate. 


She got up and walked to the top of the stairs, setting bunny down so that she would be reminded to bring it with her when she was done. She wanted Bree to take it with her so that on she could share this part of her past with her own child some day.


She stood, hands on her hips, surveying the attic. Now where the bloody hell did I put that damn journal? The attic was getting hot in the late morning sun. Wiping the sweat from her forehead, she contemplated abandoning the task. She bent down again to pick up bunny.


"The Claire I kent would never give up so easily."


Bloody Christ. It was bad enough to be lectured by her dead husband, but now her sister-in-law was chiming in too?


"Ye ken if ye kept this place tidier, ye'd no’ be having such a problem finding things. My mother would be rolling in her grave to see the likes of this place."


"Sod off, Jenny!" Claire said angrily. Her face flushed and her stomach churned with shame. She’s right, and that’s why you’re mad, she told herself. Though part of her wanted to stubbornly refuse to continue, she knew she had to keep going. 


She rifled through several more boxes, making a path toward the back of the attic. There she found it, tucked against the wall under an eave. Kneeling, she slowly opened it. Her breath caught in her throat as she picked up the copy of the Deed of Sassine that made wee Jamie Murray, their oldest nephew, Laird of Lallybroch at the age of five.  A teardrop smudged her own signature on the document, captured in the photocopy, a symbol of the pain of that terrible day. The day she had lost half of herself, forever.  Taking a deep breath, she put the Deed aside and rifled through pages of court records, prison rolls, and ship manifests. Finally, she found worn leather underneath her fingertips, and she knew she had found her prize before laying eyes on it. She lifted the journal out of the box, replacing the rest of the contents, and headed back down the narrow stairs. 


Back in the living room, she sat in her tall-backed reading chair. She squinted at the pages, seeing a haze of black ink, appearing so smudged in her vision that she wondered if the contents had been rendered indecipherable before realizing that it was her eyesight that was failing. Locating her reading glasses in a drawer of the end table, she flipped through the journal and tried to find Gillian’s notes on “steering.” All she knew was that the first time she went through, she had landed two hundred and two years in the past. There was no explanation for ending up in that time, except that perhaps she had inadvertently steered toward Black Jack Randall, the ancestor Frank had been researching during their second honeymoon in Scotland. He had been the first person she ran into, and Claire shuddered at the memory. 


She wondered if that were the case, or if there had been some predestination at work. She had met Jamie shortly after her encounter was Randall, and they were destined to be together, that she was certain of. Was it truly possible to “steer” oneself through time or were the stones going to take you to where you were meant to go, regardless of when you wanted to go? Gillian seemed to think that gemstones could help with steering, but she also thought that a human sacrifice was necessary, so she wasn’t exactly the most reliable source of information. Unfortunately, Gillian was the only source of information they had. Or was she? Claire closed the journal, setting it down on the end table. 


She closed her eyes so that she could concentrate and allow the thoughts bouncing around in her brain to connect, settle, and order themselves appropriately. Brianna had dragged her to a meditation seminar several years ago and Claire had been surprised how helpful the practice was for finding answers when your mind was muddled with thoughts. After a few minutes of concentrating on her breathing and allowing the thoughts to marinate with each other, it came to her.




Of course! She could have Roger talk to Fiona once they were back in the UK. Fiona’s grandmother had been a caller at the stones of Craigh na Dun and she had passed that wisdom and knowledge down to her. Fiona knew about the sacred rituals and ceremonies. She also knew about Time Travel. When Claire, Roger and Bree had been searching for Jamie all those years ago – had it already been almost ten years? – Fiona had deduced what they were up to and asked Roger about it. At the time, she wasn’t able to offer any help, but that was because they weren’t researching Time Travel, they were researching a person. Claire was certain that Fiona would have some useful information that could help solve William’s dilemma.


She sat down again, working her way through the details of William’s situation. He had no ties to anyone in this time that she knew of. He had traveled easily the first time, with very little consequence. William had assured her that he thought of his family when touching the stone. Claire didn’t know if that was necessary or even helpful for steering, but she had done it when she came back to the 1940s and Frank. There was no way to know if that had any influence on when she landed though, it could simply be that each person has a certain amount of time they can travel back and forth in, and that was that. That Claire had happened to end up exactly two hundred and two years in the past, practically into the arms of her soul mate could have been a mere coincidence of the universe. 


Jamie. She could still feel those large arms around her, his calloused hands running over her delicate skin. Besides the physical sensations, there was a sense of safety and protection. She closed her eyes, the memories enveloping her like the woven fabric of Jamie’s plaid. What would Jamie do? Jamie would never give up and he wouldn't let her either.


Roger wouldn’t be able to touch base with Fiona for at least two weeks. Claire would have to continue to comb through Gillian’s journal for anything useful, and in the meantime, she would have the opportunity to get to know William better. Any information she could learn about his family and his upbringing could turn out to be useful. She would start with dinner that night. Roger and Bree could come too, and Claire would start her inquisition. 




The trio arrived for dinner right on time and Claire was pleased to see that their ease with each other had only increased over a day of work. Claire served pasta with marinara sauce, and William seemed vexed by the noodles. Brianna showed him how to loop them on his fork. His shirt ended up splattered with red stains and, though he looked perturbed at first, he soon relaxed and laughed along with the rest of them. “We listened to the most interesting music. Nothing like what you played in the car on the way home last night, Claire. There’s so much of it and it’s all so different. I can’t believe that there are that many ways to write a song in the universe!” Through his description of the wonders of 20th century music, Claire understood that he particularly enjoyed ABBA. The young man certainly had  good taste in music, but there were more important matters at hand.


Claire knew she had to steer the conversation so that she could get more information about Williams’s life. She cleared her throat, “William, please tell us more about yourself. You gave us the highlights the other day, but I’d like to really get to know you. What was it like growing up on your estate? Do you know anything about your birth parents? What were your adoptive parents like?”


William stiffened a little and wiped his mouth with a napkin. He fiddled with his napkin, folding and unfolding it in his lap, considering what to say. “I grew up on my mother’s parent’s estate, Helwater. My grandparents and my Aunt Isobel raised me until I was six years old. That’s when Isobel married Lord John and they became my parents. It was… very lonely growing up there. I had no siblings and my step-parents did not have any children of their own either.”


Brianna tilted her head to one side as she looked into his eyes. She understood the loneliness of being an only child all too well. “What did you do to entertain yourself? At least in this century you have TV and music to keep you entertained!”


He smiled at her, “I rode horses. I had my first ride when I was barely three years old, or so I’m told. I don’t remember it, of course. But I have no memory of a time when I wasn’t riding. I would spend the entire day out there with the horses and with Mac.”


Roger gave him a quizzical look. “Who is Mac? Sounds like a Scot.”


“He was. Mac was a groom at Helwater. He had been there since before I was born, and when it came time for me to learn to ride, my grandfather entrusted me to his tutelage.” William’s face was soft with memory and he smiled. “He was my first friend, which I know sounds silly. I’m sure he only thought of the time he spent with me as part of doing his job, but to me, he was a friend. I spent most of my waking hours either taking lessons with him or following him around while he did his chores. When I was big enough, I took on some of the work myself, but I’m sure I was more of a hindrance than a help. He was always so patient with me, though.”


Claire smiled. “It sounds like he was an important person to you. What happened to him?”


William pushed his chair back, the legs scraping against the floor with a jarring sound and looked down at his hands. “He left, right before my step-parents were married. He told me he had to go back to Scotland to his family. I don’t know if that was true or not.” He shrugged. “I had a very hard time adjusting to my new routines and new parents after he left. It was a lot for a young child.”


“And you never heard from him again?” Brianna asked, incredulously. “It sounds like you two were very close!


William shook his head. “A groom would never think to write a letter to his previous master in that manner. It’s unheard of. He did leave me a few things to remember him by, though, and told me he would always remember me. I keep them with me, one of them I always keep in my coat pocket. When I’m trying to learn something new and I work myself up into a terrible temper, I hold it and think of what Mac would say to me and it helps.”


“What were they?” Claire asked curiously.


“A wooden rosary and a small, carved wooden snake. The snake is the one I carry with me; I have to be careful with the rosary, lest someone think me a papist.”


Roger snorted at that and was about to make a remark about papists and Presbyterians, but he saw Claire and immediately closed his mouth. She had lost all the color in her face, and Roger could see her hand trembling as she reached for her wine glass. She swallowed slowly and took a breath. When she spoke, her voice gave off the slightest tremor. “Perhaps we might see them some time.”


“Aye,” said Roger, knowing his mother in law well enough to see that she wanted to see them right now. “I’d be interested as well. It’s not every day ye get to see two hundred-year-old artifacts when they’re new!”


“I don’t have the rosary with me. I wasn’t carrying it on my person at the time. But the carved snake is right up in the guest chamber. Shall I go fetch it?”


“Aye, that would be grand,” Roger replied, trying to keep his voice light.


William excused himself from the table. He paused, as if unsure whether or not to bow, but settled for nodding his head. As soon as he was up the stairs, Bree turned to Claire. “Mama what’s wrong?” Claire just shook her head, her lips in a tight, straight line, so they sat in silence until William returned.


Minutes later he came bounding down the stairs. “Here you go,” he said, handing it to Roger. “It’s nothing special really, just a simple carving, but it’s important to me."


Claire was staring at the small wooden snake in Roger’s hands. It was a simple carving, but she recognized it. Not an exact replica of the one that Jamie had always carried in his sporran, but close. Her breathing was becoming shallow, and she could feel a cold sweat breaking out over her entire body. Roger turned the snake over and declared, “Oh, and he carved your name on the bottom!”


The room suddenly felt hot and crowded, and Claire heard a faint humming in her ears. She pushed her chair back to excuse herself, but as soon as she stood up, the blood rushed from her head, her vision blurred, blackening at the edges. She could hear familiar voices, calling to her, but they seemed far away. No longer in control of her limbs, she tried to force herself to retreat, to make that first step. Instead, she dropped to the ground, collapsing like a lead balloon.

Chapter Text

The ringing in Claire's ears slowly began to subside, but her head was still swimming with faces and voices. Her eyes started to open and as they focused, she saw Bree, Roger, and - no it couldn't be - Jamie. Confused she reached out a hand to him and he grasped it. His voice cut through the haze. "Are you all right, Claire?" he asked her, but the voice wasn't his.


She pulled her hand away from his grasp. “What? How?" she asked in bewilderment.


"Mama, it's William," Bree said, squatting down by Claire's face. Her auburn brows were furrowed, and her hair had fallen in front of her face. "It's just William." Claire's mind began to clear, and she attempted to sit up. "Mama, go slow," Bree said, gently helping her to sit up.


Claire’s eyes focused on William and she put her hand to forehead. The events of the last few hours flooded back into her mind, remembering the revelation right before everything had gone black. She turned to her daughter and said, "Help me to the couch, Brianna."


Roger came over to help as well, and they carefully guided her on her feet. William had already retreated to the couch when he realized his presence was upsetting Claire. She went to him, sitting down beside him. "Everybody have a seat," she said. "I have some questions I need to ask William and then we all need to have a talk."


William's face crinkled in confusion, the fingers of his right hand tapping anxiously on his leg. "Questions for me? I don't understand," he replied.


Claire took his nervous, shaking hand in hers and said, "I need you to tell me everything you remember about Mac."


"About Mac?" William replied incredulously, shaking his head. "I don't understand what that has to do with…. anything."


"Please William. This is important," Claire said with an edge of impatience in her voice. "What did he look like? How old was he?"


"He...he...Claire, I was very young," William's voice stammered, his eyes searching Claire's for an explanation.


"Please, William," Bree chimed in, her eyes wide with anxious anticipation. "Can you just tell us what you remember?"


William took a deep breath. "Well, he was tall; I can't tell you how tall, but he was the tallest man I knew at the time. His hair was red and curly. He was funny, but he could also be very stern." His voice trailed off, unsure of what else he could say.


Brianna and Claire sat with their mouths agape, unable to make any sound, so Roger cleared his throat and asked, "Did he ever tell ye anything about his life? Where he had been before or about his family?"


William scrunched up his face in concentration and, after a few moments, replied, "Just before he left, when he was saying goodbye to me, he gave me the wooden snake. When he showed me that he had carved my name on the back, he said that his brother had made one for him when he was young." His eyes suddenly brightened as the memory became clearer. "He told me his brother had the same name as me."


Claire breathed in sharply at this and at the same time William's face went white as a sheet, another memory coming to the forefront. He gulped and went on, "I told him I wanted to be a papist like him, and he baptized me. He gave me a 'secret papist name,' and told me it was his own secret name."


Bree leaned forward so far in her chair she was practically falling out of it. "What was it?" she asked.


William glanced around the room, eager eyes meeting his as his eyes met each of theirs. Finally looking down at his hands in his lap, he very quietly said, "James."


Brianna stood and walked over to the couch, sitting on the other side of Claire. She placed an arm around her mother and leaned her head on her shoulder. "Mama?" she asked.


Claire reached her hand up and grasped Bree's. Nodding slowly and with her heart racing, her voice shook when she spoke. "It's him. I know it's him. Jamie." Tears flowed down her cheeks and mingled with Bree's. "He was alive. He…." her voice cut off and she reached over and grabbed William's hand. "He had a son."


Roger leaned back, one leg resting across the opposite knee, rubbing his beard. "What do we do now?"


Bree gave him a look as if he had just asked the stupidest question in the world. "We go back," she said. "Isn't that obvious?"


"No, it's not," Claire said firmly. "All we know is that he was alive thirteen years ago. We don't know where he is now or if -," she swallowed, trying to wet her dry throat, "or if he's still alive."


She looked at William, observing his pale face, his slumped shoulders. His face was a portrait of confusion, fear, and perhaps a hint of anger. She turned her body to face him completely and put her arm around him, rubbing his back. As he lifted his face and looked at her, she allowed herself to truly look at him for the first time since he had arrived, since that moment of confusion when she had mistaken him for Jamie - for his father.


Now she saw him as who he was for the first time. Jamie's son. He looked so much like him, it made her heart ache, but he was also different. Jamie's eyes always twinkled; his lips were always ready to twitch into a smile at any moment. Jamie had the look of a man who had grown up running wild alongside siblings, cousins, and friends. His face was always full of possibility and imminent adventure. William's eyes were more serious, reserved. There was a sadness in them, a loneliness. He had grown up on a rich estate, wanting for nothing but the most important things in life: a loving family and other children to play with. She pictured him as a little boy, spending lonely hours with tutors, with only the freedom of the horses offering him the chance of reprieve.


He had said his stepparents had been loving, and she had no reason not to believe him, but the great losses he had endured since the day of his birth were a weight that he carried on his broad shoulders. She had seen that same weight with Jamie at times, but it was always the exception; with William it was the rule.


This young man was yearning for a family, a soft place to land. And he had landed with them. His family. In that moment she was overcome with a fierce maternal desire to be that soft place to land, and her heart opened to this lonely young man. She put both arms around William and held his head against her shoulder, running her hand over his head. She loved him, both for being Jamie's child and for the child that he was in his own right. Holding him, she felt the tension slowly ease from his body, and finally release with a low, mournful sob. She rocked him back and forth, murmuring low, comforting words.


When his body was still and the only sound he made was the occasional sniffle, Claire pushed him gently so that he was sitting up, her hands on his shoulders. "William," she asked, her eyes searching his face, "what do you want?"


He wiped his eyes on his sleeve and replied, "I want to find my father." He reached across Claire to take Brianna's hand in his. "Our father."



Over the next several days, they formulated a plan. Roger and Brianna would leave for Oxford at the end of the week as planned. They would keep most of their packed items in storage, though, taking everything they needed for the short-term on the plane. Upon their arrival, Brianna would stay in their temporary housing in Oxford, researching the Dunsany and Grey families. Meanwhile, Roger would head to Inverness to research Jamie and his family, looking for any trace of where he was during the Fall of 1777.


They would all be going through the stones by New Year, no matter what. The best case scenario was that Roger or Bree would find Jamie in America and they could all travel through the stones together.  If the research proved fruitless, Claire would fly out and meet Roger in Scotland and they would travel through the stones at Craigh na Dun together, heading to Lallybroch from there. If they found him in Scotland or were unable to figure out his whereabouts at all, William would have to go through in Saratoga, as there was no way for him to travel to Scotland without a passport in this time. Brianna insisted she would fly back to America to travel with him in this case, not wanting to leave her brother to search for their father alone.


Claire watched as Bree and William's relationship bloomed over the few days they had together. Both of them had grown up thinking they were only children, and to find a sibling filled a void in both of their hearts that neither had been consciously aware was there.


On their last night, Claire popped some popcorn and set up the projector and screen. Pulling out the round tins of slides, they all sat together watching picture after picture of Brianna growing up, laughing together at photos of messy birthday cake faces and silly poses.


Claire's mind wandered as the sideshow advanced. In each picture, she imagined Jamie, and tears streaked her face thinking of all the lost time, thirty years that they could have had together. The birthdays, graduations, Bree's wedding.  Goosebumps rose on her arms, as she pictured Jamie walking Bree down the aisle.


The addition of William into these fantasies made them all the more painful. She imagined William as their own little boy, the child that would have completed their little family, if only Jamie hadn't sent her away. She swallowed down the irrational anger that rose in her throat; she knew he had done the right thing - neither she nor Bree would have likely survived if she had stayed, but feelings knew no logic. Damn you, Jamie. God damn you for making me go, and for taking this all away from us.


But even as the anger pulsed through her veins, the yearning for him rose in them as well. For the first time in almost ten years, she allowed herself to feel the possibility of Jamie holding her, touching her, lying with her again. Would he even still want me? Claire wondered. What if he had someone else? He obviously had other women in their thirty years of separation, the evidence was sitting on her sofa in front of her. If he had married again, what then?


She shook the thought away. It didn't matter. Looking at Bree and William snuggled close on the couch, laughing with matching smiles, she knew this was no longer about just her and Jamie. It was about their children being together and the relationship they deserved to have with their father. Jamie had the right to hold both his children in his arms and be a part of these moments of sibling companionship as much as she did. Even if she could not be a part of that family in the way she wished, she couldn't deny him this. Even if she had to continue to live alone, watching Jamie with another woman, she would endure it for the sake of this family.


Later that night, William and Bree fell asleep on the sofa together. Roger went to wake Bree, to take her home, but Claire gently grabbed his arm to stop him. "Don't," she whispered. "Let them have his time together." Roger nodded with understanding and headed for the guest room. Claire covered them with a blanket and placed a soft kiss on both of their curly heads before retiring to her own bed.




Jamie slept fitfully on his cot in the army camp. It had been less than a week since he had received word from Lord John that his son had gone missing, presumed dead. His sleep was never peaceful, but the last few nights it had been tortured. He could not make peace with the idea that he was dead. His son. William, his only child still reachable to him here and now, in this time. Must I endure the loss of all my children? he thought.


He sat up on the edge of the cot with his elbows on his knees, head in his hands. His once bright copper hair was now slightly faded and streaked with grey and white. His fist clenched against his forehead, tears welling in his eyes. He was angry at everyone - God, Charles Stuart, his friend Lord John, and even Claire. Damn you for leaving me, Claire. Why didn't you fight me? Why didn't you stay?


He knew the answer to that as much as he knew his anger was unreasonable. She had to go for the baby's sake. Lord that they may be safe, she and the child. Their baby was more important than either of them, and if he - or she - lived, all the pain and loneliness was worth it.


Laying back down, he sought the solace of sleep, Claire's face smiling at him behind his closed lids, as it was every night. He could almost feel her curled up next to him, fitting perfectly under his arm, with her head on his chest. Oh, Sassenach, to touch ye again just one more time. He prepared himself for another night of anguish.


That night, though, was different. He dreamed of William, saw his curly mop of dark hair resting on a similar head of copper hair. He hadn’t seen his son in years, but he knew it was him; even as he slept he could see the long straight nose and Viking jawline. William and the woman were on a sofa, sleeping; the room was unfamiliar, the furnishings different than anything he had seen before.  He couldn't see the woman's face, but he hoped that whoever she was, she was making him happy.


The dream faded, and he fell into a deep sleep for the first time in as long as he could remember.




After Brianna and Roger left for England, Claire and William fell into a comfortable rhythm together. Claire tied up some loose ends at the hospital and submitted her resignation, wanting to spend time getting to know William and get ready for what lay ahead. Their days were filled with preparations and errands. Bank accounts to close, trusts signed, safe deposit boxes opened. She entrusted the care of any legal and financial complications that could arise after she was gone to her friend Joe Abernathy.


But in the evenings, they talked. Claire shared stories of Jamie with him, hoping that he could get to know his father a little more than the faded memories he had. One night in mid-October, she told him the story of foiling a young soldier in Carryarrick.


"That poor young man," she laughed. "He came upon Jamie peeing against a tree and Jamie still managed to break his arm. Oh, what was his name? Damn," she paused, trying to recall before shaking her head and going on. "He refused to give away the location of the camp and poor Jamie was stuck between a rock and a hard place. He knew he was going to have to torture the poor boy, or even kill him. Jamie never shied from doing what was necessary, but he would not have taken the killing of such a young man lightly."


William was listening intently, his eyes brightening with realization. He smiled his crooked smile and asked, "Was the boy's name William Grey by any chance?"


Claire squinted her eyes inquisitively and smiled back. "Yes it was. Now that you say it, I remember. How did you know?" she asked.


"I've heard this story before. My fath - my step-father - told it to me. Lord John WILLIAM Grey," he said with a smirk. The more time Claire spent with William, the more he began to resemble Jamie. Not just in his facial features, but in his expressions and mannerisms. It was as if the more she made Jamie come alive for him, the more he began to emulate his father. He was relaxed and happy, despite the anxiety of being in an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people.


"You're kidding me!" Claire laughed in surprise. "Did he tell you how it all ended up?"


"Yes, I believe there was an English woman who claimed to have been taken hostage. Years later, my father found out it was Jamie's wife," he paused, shaking his head. "That must have been you?"


She nodded and they both laughed together.  These small connections made her feel Jamie moving closer, and she silently prayed that their plan would work. The ache to be reunited with him, to see him alive and whole, was almost too much to bear.


William had spent enough time with Claire to be able to read the changing emotions in her face. He reached out and grabbed her hand. "We will find him, Mother Claire. We will. If nothing else, either his family or my stepfather will know where he is. It's only a matter of time."


Mother Claire. This new term of endearment warmed her heart. She stood and went to his chair, hugging him from behind. Placing a kiss in his soft curls, she whispered, "Yes we will. Now, I'm going to bed. I'll see you in the morning, William. I love you."


He reached up a hand and patted her arm. "I love you too, Mother Claire."



The next morning, Claire was woken from a dreamless sleep at exactly 6 AM. She reached an arm out from under the covers and grabbed for the receiver. "Hello?" she mumbled.


"Mama? Are you awake?" Bree's voice was loud and ecstatic.


"Yes, I am now. What's happening?" Claire asked.


"We found him Mama. We found him. He's alive and he is in Saratoga. Or was in Saratoga at least, a couple weeks ago. Well, not really a couple weeks ago, but…" Brianna was so excited, it was hard for Claire to make sense of what she was saying.


"What? Brianna slow down. Is Roger with you? Put him on the phone."


There were some shuffling sounds and mumblings and then Roger came on the line. "Claire. We found a copy of a letter. It was written by Lord John Grey to Colonel James Fraser of the Continental Army. The message details the disappearance of Grey's son, William, and asks Fraser to aid in the search for him, as both William and Jamie were in Saratoga at the time of the disappearance. I dug around in some of the army rolls and confirmed it. Jamie was alive and in Saratoga until the surrender in October."


Claire's heart was thumping so hard in her chest that she could hear the blood rushing in her ears. "Do we know if he's still there?"


"I dinna ken for sure, but he can't have gone far. Besides, don't ye think he would have stayed put to look for William?" Roger asked.


"Yes," Claire breathed. She sat upright in her bed, clutching the phone.  "Yes, he would. Roger, you and Bree get on the next plane. I have everything else ready. We'll leave as soon as you get here."


She hung up the phone and stretched, feeling the excitement rush through her body. Soon, she would see Jamie again, alive and whole. And if nothing else came of it, she would see the children safely to him, so that they would know each other and be a family.




Two days later, they stood together just outside the standing stones in Saratoga.  They were all dressed for the 18th century, with the few small things they hoped they could carry through in small bags and pockets. They each looped one arm around one other and stood before the small stone that William had traveled through. Claire glanced at each of them nodding as she met each of their eyes. "All right. Think of Jamie, and on the count of three we all touch the stone at the same time. Ready? One…. two…. three."




Claire woke with a ringing in her ears. Unable to move her whole body yet, she grappled to the right and her hand tangled in Bree's curls. Feeling Bree begin to stir, she reached to her other side and hit William's hard chest with the back of her hand. Slowly bringing herself to a sitting position, she saw Roger to the other side of Bree. Everybody safe and accounted for.


She looked around, taking in her surroundings, and her eyes focused on the figure of a man approaching. Bree and Roger sat up, their eyes drawn in the same direction as Claire's. As he moved closer, Claire could see that he was tall and lean, an Indian by the cut of his hair and clothing.  There was something about him that was so familiar to Claire, something she could not quite put her finger on.


He was close enough by then so that she could see the tattoos across his cheekbones and nose, obvious marks of a tribe, but his skin was pale, his hair strawberry blond. William had sat up and Claire glanced at him, unsure what to do. She saw recognition in William's eyes as he rose to his feet.


The Indian's posture relaxed, and his hand moved away from the Tomahawk that was strapped to his belt. A curious look rose on his face as he glanced at the four of them, and when he met William's eyes, a smile broke out on his face. William returned the grin. "Murray! Glad to see you.  You're just the person who can help us."








Chapter Text

The tall man whom William had called Murray stepped over to grasp his hand in both a greeting and to help him up.  “Lord Ellsemere,” he said cheekily as William, “Good tae see ye. We’ve been lookin’ all over for ye.” It was clear to Claire that this tall Indian was actually a Scot, and she looked at him curiously as she rose to her feet, Brianna and Roger following suit. Murray gave Claire and Roger a brief nod, but when his eyes met Brianna’s, he paused, squinting his eyes and looking at her curiously. His eyes shifted from William to Brianna and back again before saying, “Ian Murray, Ma’am.” He bowed to Brianna never taking his eyes off hers.

“I’m sorry, did you say Ian Murray?” Claire interjected before Brianna could introduce herself.

“Aye, Mrs….”

“Randall. Dr. Randall,” Claire answered. The reason why this man looked familiar to her was becoming plain to her. “You aren’t by any chance Ian Murray’s son? Jenny and Ian Murray of Broch Tuarach?”

“Aye!” he said, surprised. “Do ye ken my parents?”

“I do,” she said. “From a very long time ago.” She suddenly felt very shy and unsure of herself. What am I doing here, dropping back into these people’s lives after thirty years? This young man wasn’t even born before I left. Am I supposed to just introduce myself as his Aunt? Will he even know my name, know of me?

Resigned, she sighed, “I was, or maybe I still am, married to your Uncle Jamie.”

Ian’s jaw dropped and the rest of the muscles in his face went slack as the color drained from his cheeks. “Auntie Claire? But yer dead!”

“Not yet,” she laughed. “It’s nice to meet you, Ian. You look a lot like your father. How are your parents?”

“They’re well! They’ll be awful surprised to find out yer alive, though,” he laughed. “Is Uncle Jamie expectin’ ye?”

Claire shook her head. “No, I…well it’s a rather long story, but I thought Jamie was dead all these years, and Brianna,” she said, gesturing to her daughter, “only recently discovered that he is alive, so we traveled here to see him.” She paused and put a hand on Brianna’s back. “This is Brianna, our daughter. Your cousin.”

“Cousin?! Uncle Jamie never told me about having a daughter!” He was shaking his head in disbelief, looking again from Brianna to William. “I should have known, though. Ye look exactly like him.”

Brianna blushed a deep crimson and gestured to Roger. “This is my husband, Roger Wa – “

“MacKenzie,” Roger interrupted, sticking his hand out to Ian. “Roger MacKenzie. It’s nice tae meet ye.” Brianna gave him an odd look but turned back to Ian.

“Do you know where…where your Uncle is right now?”

“Aye! The armies finally left last week. Uncle Jamie and I stayed back to look for William. I havena seen him in a few days, but I kent where he was stayin; I’m sure he’s still there,” Ian replied. “It’s no’ far.”



After a week of fruitless searching, Jamie was worn out and hopeless. He sat at a table in the Inn he was staying in, working on his fourth – or was it fifth? – whisky. He was bone tired and needed to shut his brain off and, at his age, the whisky was doing a fine job of that.

He had gone through so many scenarios and possibilities in his head and searched endlessly, but the lad seemed to have just disappeared into thin air. Even worse, he had dreamed of William every night, him and the red-headed woman, making him feel even more hopeless in his waking hours. What he needed was a good night of drinking to make it all go away.

By the time he had ordered and finished another drink – fifth or sixth? -  he had to take a pish. He stood up, swaying a bit as he did, wondering if he had maybe reached his limit. Auld age will do that to ye, he thought.

He walked out the door and the cool late afternoon air helped to clear his head a little. He went around to the back of the inn and relieved himself. Heading back around toward the front of the inn, he spotted four figures, three of which were exceptionally tall, heading down an old Indian path nearby. He didn’t have his glasses with him, and though he squinted his eyes, he could not make them out. Not wanting to be caught at a disadvantage, he stepped into the shadows against the inn and waited.

The first of the four to emerge was his nephew Ian. Jamie relaxed a little and began to step forward. He had only managed a step when he saw William emerge from the wooded path standing next to a tall red-headed woman who couldn’t have been more than 3 inches shorter than William. Christ, I’ve never seen a woman so tall, he thought to himself, before realizing that he was looking at the woman from his dreams, except that, in the dreams her face was featureless. Here in front of him, the angles of her face were clear, and they were an almost mirror image of William’s. They were talking together and when they laughed, their smiles matched, and they threw their heads back in the same way. It can’t be, he thought, shaking his head.

Before his mind had time to wrap itself around the thoughts floating through his head, the next traveler emerged, and it was all he could do to keep himself upright. Claire.  He gripped for the side of the inn to prevent himself from fainting. It canna be. I must have passed out from the drink. It canna be.


Claire walked behind Brianna and William, following Ian. The three were getting along jovially and Claire’s heart felt light despite the nervous energy coursing through her veins. Roger walked behind her, occasionally singing or whistling snippets of a tune.

They approached a clearing and all at once, the chatter in front of her stopped. She walked a few more steps to catch up with them and then glanced ahead to see what had caused their banter to cease.

Standing near the wall of a building was Jamie. Even from a distance, she would know his body anywhere, could pick him out from the cock of his head and the set of his shoulders. She put an arm on Brianna to steady herself, and she realized that he saw her as well.  

Suddenly all notions of being practical faded away. She had practiced this moment over and over in her head, the way she would be respectful and reserved, introducing him to his daughter, letting the children take the lead. In that moment, though, she was a young bride seeing her husband after an absence. She and Jamie were the only two people who existed.

As butterflies exploded in her stomach, she brushed past Bree and William and ran to him. He had been leaning on the wall, but when he saw her coming, he straightened himself and stretched his arms for her as she ran full bore into his solid chest, wrapping her arms around him, weeping. His arms enfolded her, and she heard him whisper "Sassenach," before he buried his face in her curls and wept with her.


She's here. Deo gratias, Claire has come back to me. I dinna ken how or why but she is here. He wrapped his arms around tighter and breathed in the scent of her hair, unsure what to do or say next. How to look at her. What to ask her first. He whispered soft Gaelic into the top of her head, feeling as though if he died in this very moment, he would die happy.

His tears began to ease, and he could feel her sobbing breaths steady. Slowly he unwrapped his arms, placing his hands on her shoulders and then pushing her away just slightly so he could see her face. It was red and puffy, streaked with tears, and so very beautiful. "Claire," he whispered hoarsely.

She shifted her gaze up, finally meeting his eyes. "Oh Jamie, I... I didn't know if you were alive. I swear I would have come back sooner if I did. I'm so sorry, Jamie." She began to weep again, and he placed his hand under her chin, holding her face up.

"Dinna fash, mo ghraidh. Yer here now, and that's all that matters," he replied, his voice shaking, hands trembling. Drawn like a magnet, he brought his face closer to hers and then paused. "I would very much like to kiss ye, Claire. May I?"

She nodded and slowly moved her face toward his, unsure. Jamie hoped her hesitancy was for the same reason as his and he whispered to her, "We havena done this in a verra long time," before meeting her lips. She kissed him back, shyly at first, but, as they both became surer of themselves, he felt her passion stoke as she kissed him with more urgency, their tongues tangling around one another, tears still streaming down both of their faces.

Christ, I want to take her right against the wall of this building, he thought as he allowed his hands to roam. She groaned and followed suit, desperately kissing and grasping at him until they were interrupted by the sound of a throat clearing and a nervous, "Uncle Jamie?"

They broke apart, both gasping for breath. He felt the heat of embarrassment rising and saw that Claire's cheeks were red as well. "Yes, Ian?" he responded, giving Claire a coy look.

"I sent the others in to sort out the rooms. Ye two should probably join us inside soon," Ian said. It was clear in his voice that he felt badly about breaking up their reunion.

"Aye, we'll be in momentarily," he replied, waving Ian away. He turned his full attention back to Claire. "Sassenach, tell me, who was the red-haired woman wi' ye?"

Claire smiled shyly and her lips trembled as she spoke. "That was Brianna. Our daughter."

Though he had suspected as such, to hear the words spoken out loud made his knees weak as his wame did flips. "Brianna?" he managed to squeak out.

Claire nodded, her mouth still trembling. "I named her after your father, just as I promised I would. Brianna Ellen."

He was losing his balance and, given no other option, he slowly lowered himself to the ground. Claire followed suit, kneeling beside him. She wrapped her arms around him and laid her head on his shoulder.  "And William?" he asked.

"He time traveled, Jamie. I don't understand it, but we were vacationing here, in Saratoga, in 1979 and he just appeared out of thin air. He gave me such a scare; I thought he was you before I saw his face and heard his voice."

"How did ye ken he was my son, Claire?" Jamie asked, casting his eyes to the ground.

"I didn't at first," she said quietly. "He told us about you, about your time at Helwater. He has a small wooden snake that you made him, and the pieces all fell together." She dipped her head to meet his downcast eyes. "It's alright, Jamie. I'm not mad. It's been thirty years; I know you must have loved other -"

He whipped his head up to look her in the eyes. "No Sassenach," he said firmly. "I never loved anyone but you."

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed his head to her chest. He took a deep breath and let it out, relaxing into her healing touch. He had forgotten what it felt like to be held in the arms of a woman who loved him, and who he loved in return. It was better than any amount of oblivion he could find in a bottle of whisky. "Jamie, I don't need to know everything right now," she said. "I wanted to bring your children to you; that was the most important thing to me. William needs his father, they both do."

"And do ye no' need me anymore, Claire?" he asked softly.

"Jamie, I have lived half a life for the past thirty years. You are the only thing that could make me feel whole. I feel it now, just being here with you," she swallowed, searching for the right words. "But if I tried to think about all the possibilities of what I would face seeing you again, I wouldn't have had the strength to come. I need you Jamie, but if I can't have you, I can at least live the rest of my life knowing I made you whole by bringing them to you."

"I will never be whole without you in my life, mo nighean donn. Never," he answered fiercely.

She grabbed his face in her hands and replied, "Then I will be here with you, no matter what has happened."


Hand in hand, Jamie and Claire entered the inn. Jamie saw the group of four sitting at a table in the corner, and paused, unsure how to proceed. Claire gave his hand a reassuring squeeze and he nodded before stepping forward. Ian and Roger noticed his approach and rose, announcing they were going for a walk.

Jamie stood before the table and Brianna rose, taking tentative steps toward her. "Brianna," he breathed out, reaching up a shaking hand to touch her face, brush a curl away. Bree swallowed hard but found herself unable to speak and she and her father explored each other's faces with matching eyes. "You're a grown woman," he choked. "I had ye in my mind as a wee bairn, always." At that, Brianna fell apart and Jamie enveloped her in his arms, whispering to her in his soft Gaelic, kissing the top of her head, rocking them from side to side. When they finally broke their embrace, she sniffed, and he wiped her eyes with his handkerchief.

"What did you call me?" she asked. "A-lee-nan? Mon-sock?" She pronounced each word slowly and deliberately, her strange accent emphasizing the wrong syllables.

"A leannan, means 'My Darling.' M’ annsachd, 'My Blessing,'" he told her. "And you are, Brianna. You have been my blessing since the day I knew you existed. I canna find the words to tell you how sorry I am for not being there for you. I hope yer mother told ye that if I had thought there was any other way." He let out a sob and pulled her close to him again. "I'm your father, and my job is to keep you safe. The only way I could do that was to let you go. I hope you can forgive me."

The tears flowed freely down his face and it was Bree's turn to comfort him. "I forgive you," she told him. "I forgave you the moment I knew of your existence. I'm just so happy I can finally stop imagining you." She pulled away from his embrace and looked up at him. "All this time I've wondered about you, and I never thought of what I would call you if I met you."

"You can call me Da, if ye like."

She nodded. "Da. That feels right," she glanced to her right and suddenly remembered that she wasn't the only one who was eager to meet their father. "I think you have someone else to talk to as well." She reached out to beckon William to them.

William joined them and Bree made to slip away, but Jamie held her back. "I just want to hold ye both together first." His big arms wrapped around both his grown children. He had never felt so much pride in all his life. My children. Both of them safe. Both of them whole. Both of them with me.

When Bree finally slipped away to sit with Claire, Jamie gripped William's shoulder with one strong hand. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice shaking and hoarse. "I'm sorry I couldna tell ye, and that I had to leave ye. I had to do it to protect ye. It sounds like such a weak excuse now."

"It's alright," William responded. "All my life there were whispers and rumors. I knew there was more to my story than anyone would tell me. I just never imagined I would find out the truth."

"There's still a lot to sort out and I ken yer father, John, will have a lot to say. But I'm glad that for now ye know the truth and I can see ye again." This was different with William, awkward. He didn't know if he should embrace the lad or shake his hand.

After a few moments of strained silence, William said, "I would like to stay with you for a while. I want to get to know my family. If that's alright with you." He glanced at Brianna who gave him a smile. "I've grown quite fond of my sister and Mother Claire."

Jamie beamed and pulled Wiliam in for a hug, forgetting the awkwardness. "I'm quite fond of them too," he choked.


Claire had never been so exhausted in her life. They had spent the evening eating and drinking and catching each other up as best they could on the last thirty years. Jamie had presided over the table, his smile so wide the entire time, Claire wondered if his face hurt. Despite the years, he took his place as head of the family and father as naturally as if he had been at the head of their table all this time.

Ian and Roger had arranged all the rooms while Jamie and Claire were outside together earlier. After dinner, they all retired to their rooms, and Claire found herself alone with Jamie again. The initial excitement of their reunion had faded, leaving them both feeling cautious and unsure.

A fire had been made for them in the hearth and they both sat in front of it in high backed chairs pushed close together. Jamie took Claire's hand in his. "I canna begin tae tell ye what it means tae me to have you back, Claire. And for bringing my children to me."

She squeezed his hand unsure even of what to say. After a long silence she said, "What happens next, Jamie?"

He shook his head. "I dinna ken just yet, but I will figure it out, Claire. I ken ye all are looking to me for our next steps and I promise ye Claire, I'll keep ye all safe."

"I know you will, Jamie. You always did. Even if it was the hardest thing you ever had to do." She squeezed his hand.

"I'm so sorry Claire. I've gone over that day in my head so many times, wondering if I did the right thing. I still dinna ken for sure, but to see our daughter," he choked on a sob at the word, "so bonnie and braw today. Mebbe I did do the right thing after all."

"I was angry at you for a long time, Jamie," Claire said quietly. "Maybe it was just easier for me to be angry at you than to deal with the grief. But I forgave you a long time ago." She paused before going on. "Jamie, I ask your forgiveness too. I found out about ten years ago that you had survived Culloden. Frank had died and Brianna and I went on a trip to Scotland, so I could tell her about you. When we found out, we traced you through your time at Ardsmuir but then the trail went dead. I didn't know what to do. We searched still for a very long time. But we didn't find anything. I decided to stop chasing a ghost and live my life. I'm so sorry I didn't try harder, didn't do more." The guilt and shame she had been feeling over the last ten years came to the surface and she put her face in her hands and wept, deep wracking sobs that shook her entire body.

She was unaware of anything around her for some time, until she felt Jamie's strong arms around her. He picked her up and brought her to the bed, undoing her various ties and laces so that she could breathe. Leaning back on the bedstead, he pulled her into his arms, "Dinna weep Claire. Ye did the right thing. How could ye have risked it, not knowing? What if ye came back and I was dead? What then? Ye did the right thing for you and our daughter. And now, ye've brought Willie to me, too. Ye couldna have done that if ye'd already been here. And Brianna? She's happily married! There's nothing to forgive, Claire, but if there were, I would have done so already." She began to relax, feeling the tension leave her muscles as he held her. "So much has changed, mo chridhe, but when I hold ye in my arms like this, I feel like a lad again."

"Well, I know I certainly don't look like a young woman anymore, but you do make me feel thirty years younger. Do you think - " she cut herself off, blushing.

"What, Claire? Ye dinna have to be shy wi' me."

"I was just wondering if it will be the same with us. Do you remember?"

"Aye, I do and I'm sure it will be the same as it was before. There's only way to find out for sure though," he replied, raising his eyebrow at her in a way that made her shiver with both memory and anticipation.

"Blow out the candles, Jamie. It's time for bed."




Chapter Text


Claire woke slowly the next morning. Every muscle in her body was pleasantly sore, and some other parts, too, she thought. She and Jamie had spent the night alternately making love and filling each other in on the past thirty years.

Jamie told her of his time living in a cave, his arrest, and his imprisonment at Ardsmuir. He told her of his friendship with Lord John, which led to his parole at Helwater, where he met William's mother. Quietly he gave her the details of Geneva's blackmail, manipulation, and violation of him. Of William's birth, Willie, he called him , and their time together. How he had left Helwater and his son behind, to protect him. 

He had returned to Lallybroch and tried to make a go of it. When his sister's attempts to see him wed, to Laoghaire of all people!, became too much for him to bear, he had left for Edinburgh to open a print shop and be a whisky smuggler on the side. After his print shop had burned to the ground, he had sought refuge with his cousin Jared in France, taking his nephew Ian with him. The idea had been that Ian would attend university, but trying to focus the lad on his studies was a Sisyphean task.

When Jared had needed someone to oversee his operations in the West Indies temporarily, Jamie had agreed to go, despite being terribly afflicted by seasickness. In typical fashion, nothing had gone as expected. Ian, who had been ordered to stay with Jared and continue his studies, had instead stowed away on the ship until they were too far out from land to turn around.  Fergus had joined Jamie as planned (Claire was so delighted to know that he was alive and well) . What wasn’t planned was Fergus bringing Marsali, Laoghaire’s daughter, on board the ship, declaring they had been handfast, and announcing his intention to marry her properly as soon as they reached dry land again. 

Having sorted out his various wards, the rest of the trip went fairly smoothly. It was on the return trip home when things really fell apart. They had been shipwrecked in a storm and though much of the crew was lost, Jamie had survived along with “the bairns,” as he referred to them. (Claire had laughed at this, considering Fergus had been at least 30 years old that time). As luck would have it, they had washed upon shore in Georgia. Intending to stay only as long as necessary to get the funds to go back to Scotland, one thing had led to another and to another and before they all knew it, they had been living in the Colonies for almost ten years. 

Her heart sang and her eyes glistened with tears when she had heard that Fergus was alive, albeit short one hand, lost to a British soldier in the horrible years following The Rising. Jamie had wiped them away with his thumb and whispered to her, “Aye, Sassenach. Our son is alive, and we are grandparents, mo chridhe, four times over. Germain came first, and then the two hell kittens, Joan and Felicite, and finally wee Henri-Christian. I canna wait for you to meet them.” His own tears had choked in the back of his throat then.

Jamie had been granted land by the former Governor of North Carolina and they had all settled there, calling it Fraser’s Ridge. Jamie’s description of it delighted her. A large settlement in the backwoods of North Carolina filled mostly with Scottish immigrants. “I slowly began to heal, the more tenants I had, the more I was able to help people,” he had whispered. “I felt like a Laird again. It gave me a purpose, people to care for. But I wasna fully healed until I saw ye yesterday, Sassenach, walking out of those woods like a wee faerie.” He promised her they would find a way back as soon as he could. “I’ll build ye a fine house, fit for the Lady of the Ridge,” he had proclaimed, kissing the tip of her nose. 

She was so accustomed to waking up alone (not having spent the night in the arms of the man she loved for so very long) that it took her a few moments to realize that Jamie was absent from their bed. Reaching over, her arm searched for him and found only blankets. She rolled toward his side of the bed and looked at the rumpled blankets, tracing the indents his body had left on the sheets. 

Last night her senses had become completely absorbed by him. The smell of him, gunpowder, woodsmoke, horse; the feel of him, muscles hard underneath her hand, coarse hair bristling against her fingers ; the sound of him, rolling Rs, the cadence of his voice as he told stories, the quiet incantations of Gaelic in her ear ; the taste of him, salty skin, whisky flavored mouth.

The door clicked open before she could finish her inventory, and the sight of him took her breath away. Faded copper hair mingled with wisps of gray and white peeking out under a tricorn hat (how had she never noticed before how dashing they made a man look?); his broad muscular body framed perfectly by his long brown leather coat; crooked smile and playful blue cat eyes. The memories of the mind may fade with time, but the senses never forget, and in a primordial way, her body had remembered, convincing her faulty consciousness that all of this was real.

"Sassenach, I'd forgotten how much ye like a good lie in," he said, removing his hat and coat. Setting them down, he sat on the edge of the bed and turned toward her, careful to not to dirty the sheets with his boots. He placed a hand on her cheek, and she wiggled and purred like a cat, nudging into his hand. "Do ye ken how beautiful ye look, all tangled up in those sheets with yer hair untamed?"

She reached out and grabbed his arm, trying to pull him into her nest of blankets and warmth. "Come back to bed," she said, the slightest hint of pleading in her voice.

He leaned over to kiss her softly. "I wish I could, but there's much to be done. I sent word to Lord John this morning about Willie, let him know the lad is safe, and that we would be joining him in Philadelphia as soon as we can. We've got to procure a wagon, horses, supplies. I'd like to leave tomorrow if we can manage, but certainly no later than the day after." 

Claire sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. "What time is it?"

"Half nine," he grunted, making a distinctly Scottish noise of disapproval at her laziness deep in the back of his throat. 

She scooched over until she was behind him, resting her head on his back at the base of his neck. She wondered if she would ever not feel the need to be near him, touching him. Thirty years had passed with the absence of him and yet that same magnetism was there. She sat up and lazily traced figure eights on his arm. "Have you seen anyone else yet?"

"Aye, Ian was up and gone before I was. He's a lass that he's smitten with. Her brother is a physician that was with the army, Dr. Hunter. They stayed behind to tend to some of the injured that were too poorly to move. Ye'll like him fine, I think, Sassenach. I suspect Ian's gone to see the lass and fetch his dog from her."

"His dog?" she asked.

"Aye. The poor mongrel was injured and has been convalescing wi' the lass. Rachel."

"Is this a serious thing between Ian and Rachel?"

"I dinna ken for sure but the lad is absolutely besotted."

"It certainly sounds like he deserves some happiness," Claire replied, kissing Jamie's shoulder. 

Jamie had filled her in on Ian's story as well. How he had met a young Mohawk woman during Jamie's time as Indian Agent to the Crown, and had left with her tribe when they traveled back to their home in Upstate New York. Jamie had found a broken-hearted Ian when Jamie had traveled North with the Continental Army. His wife had died in childbirth, along with the child, and Ian had left the Mohawk, living alone in the wilderness for almost a year before being reunited with Jamie.

"Aye, Sassenach. She's a good woman, but I'm worrit that it willna work out. She's a Quaker, and Ian is anything but."

"Stranger pairings have worked out though, hmmm?" Claire teased.

"Oh, aye. Such as an eighteenth century Highlander and a 20th century Sassenach?" he replied, turning his head to kiss her again. "I canna tell ye how good it is to have ye to talk to again. No' that I didna talk to you anyway." He chuckled softly. 

"I talked to you, too. Sometimes you would show up even when I didn't want your opinion." 

"Aye, I ken that. I canna tell ye how many times ye chided me, Sassenach. But it was no' the same as having ye here to chide me in person." He stood and reached a hand out to help her off the bed.

She took his hand and joined him. "I haven't chided you once since I got here!" she protested.

He took her in his arms. "Ye've only here naught but a day, a nighean . I expect I'll have my first proper chiding by sundown." 

Playfully, she slapped his bottom. "You'll have it now if you aren't careful."

"I look forward to it." He pulled her in for another kiss, licking his lips quickly just before they met hers. 

"What about the others?" she asked after their lips parted.

"I havena seen Brianna and Roger," he replied. "Willie was up early and I've already sent him to look after finding the horses we need. It'll be no' easy task wi' the armies having just left but he's a clever lad. He'll find a way."

Claire began the arduous task of getting back into her 18th century clothing. This was one thing she did not miss. "Does he let you call him Willie?" 

"No, I have tae watch myself when I talk to him directly, but he'll always be Willie to me."

"I'll fetch Bree and Roger and then we can divide up the tasks to speed things along."

Jamie raised an eyebrow at Claire. "This Roger," he said, rolling the R a little harder than he would naturally, "doesna seem like he'll ken what he's doing here, Claire. I'm not sure that a university professor from your time will have many survival skills."

Claire laughed at his disapproval. She supposed it was only fair that he get a few jibes in at his daughter's husband, having not been able to have any say in the matter when she married him. "I think he will surprise you, Jamie. You're going to have to give him a chance, just the same, seeing as how they're already married."

His answer to that was another grunt. He walked to the door, picking up his coat and hat on the way out. "Meet me downstairs in half an hour, Sassenach.

"Yes, Colonel," she replied, giving him a mock salute that elicited a half smile that melted her heart.


Though Jamie had all intentions of splitting up the work that needed to be done, he soon realized that there was no good way to collect the provisions they needed without first procuring a wagon.  Claire still had not made her way down from their room, but Brianna and Roger were up and eager to help. Finally, he decided that he would take Brianna with him in search of the wagon, leaving Roger to wait with Claire at the Inn. Hopefully, by the time he and Brianna returned, Willie would be back with the horses and they could set about the rest of their errands quickly.

He opened the Inn door and gestured for Brianna to go ahead of them. “The stables are just across the way, lass. Ye’ll have to ride with me, if ye don’t mind.”

Bree smiled at her father. “I don’t mind.”

Jamie stepped into the stable and after a few minutes emerged with a gorgeous chestnut mare. “She’s gentle as a kitten,” he said, bringing the horse close to Bree so that she could acquaint herself with it. He was surprised to see that she knew exactly how to approach the horse, handle her, make both of them comfortable. “Ye ken your way around horses, then?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, rubbing her hand up and down the horse’s muzzle. “My father taught me how to ride.”

Jamie was caught off guard briefly, but quickly recovered himself. “Ah, Frank. Well, I’m glad for it; it will make things a lot easier on ye now that yer here.” He mounted the horse and then reached out a hand to Brianna. She mounted in front of Jamie easily and they set off. “Tell me,” he said in her ear as they headed toward the business district, “did yer Ma tell ye much about what it's like to live this time I mean?"

"Well, she mostly told me about you . But, being a historian, I could mostly fill in what she didn't tell me from what I knew."

"Yer - uh - Frank, he was a historian, was he no'?" he asked, brushing away a loose curl that kept blowing into his face.

"Sorry," she said. "Now I know why women wore their hair back so neatly back...I mean, now."

"Dinna fash. Yer mother's hair used tae do the same thing to me."

"Anyway, yes, my father was a historian. He was a professor at Harvard and I spent a lot of time with him there growing up. Mama was in medical school and then at the hospital a lot; he and I were very close."

Jamie made a noise in the back of his throat and they rode together in silence, neither sure what to say next. It troubled Jamie that he didn't know what to say to her, the right questions to ask. The night before had been easier somehow but alone, just the two of them, he realized that his daughter was a stranger. 

Soon, though, they reached the livery and both dismounted to see if any wagons were available for purchase. A quick discussion with the proprietor told them that he had two for sale, giving a nod of his head in the direction of the back of the building. Jamie and Bree headed back to look.

Bree followed Jamie as he inspected them both carefully. He pulled a pair of glasses out of his coat pocket and walked around each one, bending and kneeling as necessary. As he started to seem more interested in one, she drew up closer behind him, looking over his shoulder. Clearing her throat nervously, she said, "Da? You don't want this one."

He looked over his shoulder at her, peering down over the rims of his glasses. "Why no'?"

She stepped to the side and crouched down next to him. "You see this, here? There's a slight bend in the spoke." Jamie leaned in closer. Bree went on, "And here? This piece is off kilter. It's going to loosen with every turn. We'll be stuck with a broken wheel before we've made it out of New York." She smiled at him shyly and stood up.

Jamie peered at the wheel again and ran his hand over the flaws she had pointed out. Christ, the lass is right. A feeling of pride swelled in his chest as he rose to his feet. "Aye, yer right," he said, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Let's have another look at this other one then."


Jamie helped Brianna up into the wagon seat next to him.  He flicked the reins and made a quick sound with his tongue and the horse headed off at a steady pace. "That's a fine eye ye have there, Brianna." 

"I've always had a knack for machinery," she replied. "I almost switched my major to engineering at one point."

"Why didna ye?" She sighed and Jamie saw the furrow of her brows and small frown on her lips. "Ye dinna have to be shy wi' me, lass. I ken ye have a whole history that I dinna ken about. You'll no' hurt my feelings if it has something to do wi' Frank." 

She smiled at him, grateful to him for getting the awkwardness out in the open. "When I found out about you, for a while I was angry. I was angry at Mama for betraying my father and keeping such a huge secret from me. I was angry at you for…..existing, I guess. And was angry at my father for not being my father. And for keeping you from me." She looked at him and he gave her a small nod. "I had wanted so badly to be like him, so when I found out he wasn't my re-, my biological father, I felt like...I don't know." She shrugged, struggling to find the words.

"Like ye didna deserve to be like him anymore?" Jamie offered.

"Something like that, yes." She gave him a warm smile. "I'd always had an interest in engineering, so I considered it, even took a few classes."

"What made ye decide to stay with history then?"

"I stopped being angry. Mama started talking to me about you and Daddy and everything that happened. Eventually I realized that history was my true passion after all, and it felt like a way to honor both of you, in different ways."

"I'm glad ye were able to stop being angry at Frank. I didna ken him, but I ken he was a good man and I'm grateful to him," Jamie replied, choking up a bit on the last words.

"You don't hate him?" Brianna asked.

Jamie chuckled. "Mebbe a bit I do. No' as much as I did thirty years ago. But mostly I'm grateful to him for being a good father to ye when I couldna be. And fer takin' yer Ma back and loving her." 

The wagon jostled along the bumpy road, kicking up an endless cloud of dirt, as Brianna considered what to say next. "They weren't happy together, you know. I don't know what Mama has told you so far, but they weren't happy. If it weren't for me, I don't think they would have stayed together."

"If it weren't fer you, yer mother would have died at Culloden," he said, staring ahead as they drew closer to the Inn. 

"You didn’t," Brianna pointed out.

"Aye, but that was pure dumb luck. The English slaughtered everybody; man, woman, and child. And yer Ma was a wanted woman, just as I was a wanted man."

"You two are a regular Bonnie and Clyde!" Bree declared, giggling.

"I dinna ken who Bonnie and Clyde are, but yer Ma and I certainly kent how to find trouble." 

They went silent for a moment as they approached the Inn. He pulled the wagon alongside the building and turned to Bree, placing a hand on her cheek. "You are the best thing to ever happen to us. To me, to yer mother, and I would guess to Frank too. Don't ye ever think that yer existence caused any of us any pain that we didna gladly welcome fer the sake of you, M'annsachd ." He kissed her other cheek gently and climbed out of the wagon. Reaching a hand out, he helped her to the ground, and after she had both feet on the ground, she surprised him by wrapping her arms around him in a bear hug.

"Thank you," she whispered quietly.

Chapter Text


William returned to the Inn shortly after Jamie and Brianna. He rode one horse and was leading the other by a tether. Claire and Roger had taken the wagon to get supplies, and Brianna was in her room, taking a nap.

Jamie went outside to greet William and inspect the horses he had procured. William dismounted and stood side by side with Jamie, mirroring each other’s movements as they walked around each horse, checking the legs, hips, and teeth. When Jamie was satisfied, he nodded at William. “Good job. How much did ye end up paying for them?”

“I paid all that you gave me.”

“Ye mean tae tell me that ye spent the entire purse I gave ye on them?”

William must have been shocked by the sudden change in Jamie’s voice and demeanor because his own shoulders straightened, and he spoke with a terse tone. “I wasn’t aware that you didn’t want me to spend the entire purse.”

“Of course I didna want ye to spend the entire purse,” Jamie answered, shaking the empty bag in disbelief. “How could ye be such a wastrel?”

“If you had a certain price in mind other than what was in the purse, why didn’t you tell me before you sent me off?” William asked, clenching his fists at his sides. “Look, if there is an issue with how much I spent, I can assure you that when we get to Philadelphia, my fath – “

Jamie’s entire body turned red all the way to the tips of his ears. He leaned in closely to William and spat out, “This isna about money, and I dinna want John Grey’s money even if it was.”

William’s color now matched Jamie’s and they were nose to nose, both breathing heavily, blue eyes wild with anger. “Is my father’s money not good enough for you then?”

Jamie turned and threw his hands in the air in frustration. “Iffrin! This isna about yer step-father, so why do ye have tae keep bringing him into this?”

William moved closer to Jamie again, forcing them face to face. “Then what is it about? If you didn’t want me to spend that much money on the horses, then why did you give me that amount in the first place? Christ! I’m not a mind reader! It’s not like we have some vast history with each other so that I can know exactly what you’re thinking!”

Jamie threw his hands in the air once again. “Christ, if ye canna understand what this is about now, then I dinna think ye ever will.” With that, he turned on his heel and stalked away, leaving William to tend to the horses.


With some difficulty, Claire and Roger were able to procure most of the provisions for their trip. Both were eager to get back to their spouses. With Jamie in such close proximity, she felt him like a powerful magnet, a deep ache in her stomach, constantly pulling her toward him. She had lost so many years with him, and her body yearned to spend every minute with him, touching him, listening to him, all those little constant signals to her body that he was there, real.

Roger had been quiet, and Claire assumed it was because he was worried about Bree. She had lost her appetite and felt poorly, so Claire had sent her back to her room for a rest. They had a long journey ahead of them, and she hoped it was just the excitement of the last few days or even the aftereffects of going through the stones rather than an illness. Once they left Saratoga, she had no way of knowing if there were any other stones, any other way to send them back to the 1970s. If any of them were to fall ill, she would be left only with her medical skills and whatever medicinal herbs and primitive medicines she had on hand.

When she could stand the silence no longer, she turned to Roger. “If you’re worried about Bree, I’m sure she’s fine. It’s just been a lot these last couple days.”

“It’s not that. It’s just….eh, never mind.”

“Roger, what is it?”

“Well, did ye…. I mean…. I get the feeling that Jamie doesn’t really like me.”

“Like you? He hardly even knows you, Roger. We’ve only been here for one day.” Claire was trying to reassure Roger, but Jamie had mentioned some doubts he had about Roger that morning.

“I don’t know, Claire; It’s just the way he was looking at me, like he was sizing me up.” Roger shook his head and looked away, worry lines etched into his forehead.

Claire didn’t answer at first. She was trying to put herself in Jamie’s shoes, which she found surprisingly difficult. She could imagine what the Jamie of thirty years ago would have said and done, but she realized that she didn’t really know Jamie like she did before. Yes, he was the same person at his core that he always had been: honest, loyal, trustworthy, willing to protect those he loves at all costs, but there were differences in his behavior, his words. Of course, she should have expected that; Claire was no longer the hot-tempered young woman she had been at twenty-seven. Changes were to be expected, but it pained her to realize that she could no longer predict what Jamie would say, how he would react to a situation. Oh get yourself together, Beauchamp. Give it time, she told herself.

But her mind wandered in spite of her pep-talk. How do you make up for thirty years of lost time? Thirty years of experiences that molded you into the person you now were. How do you get to know a person again? Would their deep love for each other help or hurt their efforts to adjust to the people they had become? If she were to do something or act a certain way that was unexpected to Jamie, would the hurt feelings run deeper?

She took a deep breath and brought her mind back to the previous night, the way all of her dormant feelings for him had awakened, the way their connection had clicked into place immediately. That was all that mattered in the end, but she would be fooling herself if she thought that there wouldn’t be some stumbling along the way as they found their new rhythm.

But what to say to ease Roger’s mind? She could do nothing but draw on the Jamie she once knew and hope that her instincts were correct. “Well,” she finally replied, “I’m sure he was sizing you up Roger. You have to put yourself in his shoes. He has spent the past thirty years not knowing if his child lived, or even whether she was a boy or a girl. Now, she’s suddenly here and he feels like he has to make up for being missing from her life for thirty years. If he had been around, you would have had to prove yourself worthy to him, asked him permission to marry her. I suppose in a way you will still have to prove yourself to him, if you want to earn his respect, anyway. But shouldn’t any husband expect to have to do that with his wife’s parents? You’re just a little behind with Jamie.”

Roger gave her a skeptical look. “What if he doesn’t think I’m worthy, Claire? What if his ideas about what a husband should be are not the same as mine?”

“Jamie is a man of his time, that’s for sure. But I don’t think the important things, the qualities that really matter, are all that different. Honesty, loyalty, the ability to provide, those things never really change,” she paused and pointed ahead. They had arrived at the Inn. “All right, we’re here. You stay here with the wagon and I’ll go find out where Jamie wants to store everything overnight.”


When Claire found no sign of Jamie or Bree at the inn, she went around to the stables to see if either of them were back there. Instead, she found William, mounting a horse she hadn’t seen before. “William? Where are you going? It’s going to be time for supper soon.”

“Mother Claire! I’m glad you're back,” he said, dismounting again. “I’m very sorry to be doing this to you, but I’ve…I’ve got to go.”

Claire furrowed her brow, grabbing William by the shoulders. “What on earth are you talking about? Where are you going? We’re leaving for Philadelphia in the morning!” William’s eyes were red and puffy, but his mouth was turned up in a scowl that Claire recognized immediately though she hadn’t seen it in a very long time. “William, what happened?”

“I don’t think now is the right time to become…reacquainted with Mr. Fraser. And I certainly don’t think we should all be going to Philadelphia together. It’s better if I head out on my own; please have Mr. Fraser write to my father and let him know that I will not be joining him in Philadelphia.”

William’s attempt to speak calmly may have fooled most people, but Claire had seen this calm veneer too many times. There was a sea of rage and hurt boiling under the surface and Claire needed to tread very carefully. “William, please tell me what happened. I can’t help fix this if you don’t talk to me.”

He shrugged her hands off his shoulders and shook his head. “There’s nothing you can do to fix this. I should have known this was a mistake. I’m sorry.” His voice cracked at the last and he looked down at the ground, kicking mindlessly at a small stone in the dirt.

Claire decided to take a different tact. “If you aren’t going to Philadelphia, then where are you going?”

“I don’t know yet. I need time to think.”

“If you don’t have a plan, maybe it’s best that you didn’t run off at near dark then? Let’s have some supper and talk to Jamie and maybe we can get this whole thing sorted out.” Claire moved to place her arm tentatively around William’s shoulder, but he stepped away before she could reach him.

“No. I’m not going to eat supper with him,” he spat out. But he looked around at the bright oranges and reds of the encroaching autumn sunset and Claire could tell that he was at least rethinking his plan to leave immediately. “I won’t leave tonight, though. This way I can at least say a proper goodbye to Brianna.”

Claire nodded but said no more about reconciliation. William turned and led the horse back to the stables, while Claire set off to find out where Jamie had gone off to. She knew he would at least tell her what happened, and then maybe she could start to sort everything out.

"Jesus H Roosevelt Christ!" she said out loud, suddenly realizing she had forgotten about Roger. She walked hastily back to the wagon to help him.

As luck would have it, when she returned to where she had left him, she found both Roger and Jamie, along with Brianna and Ian. All four were rummaging through the supplies, ensuring they had everything they needed. Claire approached them and stood with her hands on her hips. After a moment, she cleared her throat and interrupted their chatter. "Jamie."

Jamie looked up at her from the wagon bed and raised one eyebrow at her before glancing nervously at Bree and Roger. He stood and hopped down from the wagon bed, approaching Claire slowly. "Thirty years couldna erase the meaning of that look. What have I done, Sassenach?"

"Why don't you tell me, Jamie? I just ran into William attempting to run off into the dead of the night without saying a word to anybody. What on earth happened?"

Jamie glanced again toward the wagon where their three spectators quickly attempted to busy themselves. Jamie nodded his head to the side and gently took Claire's arm to lead her far enough off so they could speak privately.

When they were out of earshot of the rest of the group, Jamie turned to Claire, "What do ye mean he was going tae run off?"

"He had a horse and wanted me to tell you to send word to Lord John that he wouldn't be joining us in Philadelphia. Jamie, what happened?"

"Och, it was my fault, Sassenach. We had a disagreement over the price o' the horses and we both lost our tempers." He filled her in on the rest of the argument.

When he was finished, Claire took him by the hands gently, trying to mask the frustration that leaked out in her voice. "Jamie, what on earth possessed you to get upset over that? William was right; he's not a mind reader."

"I ken! He just caught me at a bad moment, and I would have apologized but then he had to bring Lord John into it, and I lost my temper." His face was growing red and Claire saw the same scowl on it that she had seen on William's minutes before. "To have him suggest that I would need Lord John' was too much for me to bear after…" His voice cut off, choked by a sobbing sound from his throat.

Claire's face softened and she took Jamie in her arms. "I know, Jamie. I understand."

Jamie sniffled into Claire’s hair and kissed the top of her head. "I couldna stand the idea of owing him one more thing, Sassenach. Not when I've finally got my family back."

Claire lifted her face and kissed him gently. "I realized today that this is not going to be easy for any of us, in many ways. You can't just shut the door on your friendship with Lord John any more than William can forget the nearly twenty years that John was the only father he knew. And you don't want that, anyway, Jamie. I know you're grateful to him for all that he's done, and you must know that he is always going to be William's father."

Jamie pulled Claire into him again. "Christ, Sassenach. How have I managed wi'out ye for the last thirty years?"

"I really don't know, Jamie. You must have had a lot of visions of me telling you what to do." She reached up and touched his face, smoothing a stray gray hair back behind his ear. "I'm glad I'm here though, even if the keeping of you is a full-time job."

"Aye, it is, mo nighean donn." He bent down to kiss her. "That's why I've no' had anybody else willing to take on the job yet."

She playfully slapped his bottom and then asked, "So what are you going to do about William?"

"I'll have tae apologize to the lad. What a mess I've made of this already!"

"Can I offer you one more piece of advice, Jamie?"

His lip twitched in one corner. "One more, for the rest of our lives?"

"No, just for this conversation," Claire replied, raising her eyebrows at him. "But it's important. Jamie, he's not one of your soldiers. He's your son. And if there's one thing I've learned about being a parent, it's that they never stop needing you to be a parent. William may be an adult, but he needs your approval. You've known he's your son his entire life; he's only known that you're his father for a few weeks. He's still getting accustomed to the idea. You'll push him away if you're too hard on him."

Jamie nodded, "Aye, Sassenach. I hear ye."

"Oh, and one more thing.

"Ye said that was yer last one!" he teased.

She gave him an exasperated look and went on, "He's just like you, so if you two are going to navigate this without blowing the entire ship up, you're going to have to practice being a little less you when he’s got his dander up."

"I can try," was the best response he could give.


It was a quiet dinner. William did not show up, which worried Brianna, who was already looking peaked. Roger nervously tried to keep up a conversation with Jamie, who was sullen and not prone to answering questions in such a mood. Ian had returned from visiting Rollo and found that the dog was not quite ready for the journey to Philadelphia, though Rachel and her brother were planning to head in that direction themselves in a few days’ time. Ian was torn between waiting behind for Rollo and Rachel, and spending time with his new family.

When it was clear that nobody was going to eat anymore, though their plates still had plenty of food left on them, Claire announced that they should all get to bed early, since they planned to leave before full sunrise the next day. When all had cleared away except for Claire and Jamie, she put a gentle hand on his arm and leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. "What are you going to do?" she asked quietly.

"I dinna ken. I think mebbe I'll go into town and check the Taverns there, tae see if he's out carousing. If I were a lad of near twenty and had a mind to be angry at the world, that's where I'd be." He moved to get up, but Claire stopped him.

"You know, he might not be at a Tavern," she suggested. Jamie raised an eyebrow at her. "A young man of twenty might also find solace in a woman."

The tips of Jamie's ears turned pink and his lip curled down into a frown. "Christ, do ye think the lad is cavortin' with hoors?"

Claire shrugged. "I don't know, but it's a possibility. But Jamie, wherever you find him, be gentle with him. Don't lecture him. He's doing this to push you away, and you have to show him you're not going anywhere."

Jamie's face softened and his eyes lit, as if the advice Claire had been giving him finally clicked into place. "Aye," he said. "I'll find him and see him safely home."


Jamie's search of all the taverns in town had been fruitless, so he resorted to looking for him amongst the whore houses, grumbling the entire time about it. He was bone tired and felt too damn old to be out this late, in this part of town. Feeling like a lecher, he questioned the girls outside the buildings and, on his third try, managed to find one who told him that a man of William's description was, in fact, inside.

He was tempted to run inside, find the lad, and drag him out by his ears, but Claire's words were echoing in his head and he knew she was right. William was a man now and he would make his own choices, whether or not Jamie agreed with them. At this point in both their lives, and their relationship, Jamie could only be there to help him, maybe guide him toward better choices with time.

There was a bench across from the brothel, and he sat down, easing the aches in his knees and back. The air was chilly, but not unbearably so. He watched the people go in and out of the building. As fatigue began to overtake him, he imagined he saw the same faces going in and out on a loop, as if they were all just moving in an infinite circle. It was to this image that he dozed off, head tilted back against the building behind him.

He startled awake when he felt a gentle tug on his arm. His eyes came into focus and he saw William looming tall over him, swaying a bit. "Willie," Jamie said as he shook himself further into wakefulness and stood up. "Are ye alright, son?"

William nodded, but the movement seemed to cause a disturbance in his equilibrium and he almost tripped over his own feet. Jamie took a firm grasp of his arms and held him upright. "I believe I may have had a bit too much to drink," William slurred.

"Aye, I can see that. Come, let's get you home and to bed. Yer sister's worried sick about ye." Jamie lifted William's arm and put it around his own broad shoulders and secured his other arm firmly around William's waist. "Let's go, Willie. One step at a time."

William grunted at that and began moving. "Nobody calls me Willie anymore, you know.

Jamie nodded. "Aye. I ken that."

Tentatively, William leaned his head down and on to Jamie's shoulder. "I don’t mind if you do, though."

Jamie got them to the spot where he had hitched his horse and with much effort, he managed to get William foisted upon it. Jamie mounted the saddle behind him and put one arm firmly around William's waist before taking off. The lad soon dozed off and as Jamie rode, he was reminded of all the times he had ridden with William like this, at Helwater. Feeling a bit foolish, he gave his son a small kiss on the back of the head as he had always wished he could have done in those days. He felt content, despite the turmoil of the day, and rode the rest of the way back with a small smile curling at the corner of his mouth.

Chapter Text


Claire watched the scenery go by as the wagon rolled along. She thought she would never tire of seeing America like this, green and tree-covered, quiet. She realized one of the things she had missed most about the past, other than Jamie of course, was the lack of ambient noise ever-present in her time. There were no automobiles beeping their horns, no airplanes roaring overhead, no constant chatter of the radio. It seemed to make her other senses come to life; the colors seemed brighter and the smells stronger. Even the constant breeze on her skin from their movement felt like a soft caress.

She slipped an arm through Jamie's as they held the horse's reins. He turned and gave her a smile as she rested her head on his shoulder. Despite everything on her mind, she was consumed with an underlying happiness. It was a strange, foreign feeling, this contentment. How had she gone thirty years without it? Like the lack of noise, it was something she didn't realize she missed until she had it again.

Normally, she would have preferred to ride horseback, side by side with Jamie, but neither Bree nor William were feeling well, and they were worried about them. She glanced back to see the two of them, cramped and curled up amongst the supplies in the wagon bed, lulled to sleep by the motion as they moved along.

Dragging a hungover William out of bed early that morning had been quite the task considering his size and temperament, but between Jamie, Ian, and Roger, they had managed to get some water and bread in him before loading him into the wagon. Bree had been less difficult, though no less green in the face, and Claire had a distinct feeling she knew what was causing her nausea, even if Bree hadn't realized it yet.

Claire reached above her head and stretched her body as best she could. Jamie turned to her again and leaned over to kiss her cheek. "We'll stop soon and make camp, a nighean. I want tae get a few more miles in."

She scooched over on the wagon seat and leaned into him again. "I wish we could get some alone time," she whispered.

He raised an eyebrow at her and licked his lips. "Aye, as do I. I suppose we'll have to do with being verra quiet after everyone has gone to sleep."

The idea of making quiet, secretive love to Jamie under the stars made her stomach do flips. She felt the heat rising to her cheeks. Apparently, Jamie saw it, too. He smiled mischievously and reached his arm under her to grab as much of her ass as was possible while she was sitting on a wagon seat. She squeaked, causing William and Bree to stir in the wagon bed. She looked at Jamie and mouthed, "Behave," at him before turning around to check on the two ailing travelers in the back.

William sat up slowly. His chestnut hair was tousled, and he had sleep lines on his face. He reminded Claire so much of the man she had fallen in love with all those years ago, it made her heart melt. "How are you feeling?" she asked.

He attempted to smooth down his wild hair. "A bit better. What time is it?"

"Near time to make camp!" Jamie chimed in.

"I'm sorry I slept all day. I should have been helping," William replied.

"Dinna fash yerself. There was naught for ye to do anyway. I'd rather have ye feeling better."

Claire smiled and reached back to shake Bree's leg. "Wake up, darling. It's almost time to stop for the night."

Though William was looking better, Bree still looked wretched. As soon as she could grab a moment alone with Bree, she would speak to her to confirm her suspicions.


The opportunity arose sooner than Claire expected. Soon after Jamie stopped the wagon, she and Bree set off to collect kindling together. As soon as they were out of earshot, she grabbed Bree gently by the arm. "Brianna, when is the last time you had your period?"

Brianna looked taken aback at first but then her eyes begin moving back and forth and her fingers twitched as she did the mental math. After a moment she quietly said, "Oh my God, it's been almost two months. With everything going on, I guess I lost track!"

Claire smiled and hugged her. "Congratulations, Bree! I'm so happy for you."

Bree's face was worried, though. "Won't it be dangerous, having the baby here?"

Claire gestured to a large rock and they both sat down. "Childbirth is a risky business, no matter what, but even more so here without modern medical equipment. Bree, I know it's a lot to take in, but if you truly don't want to have the baby here, you will need to decide soon. I don't know if there are any other standing stones in America, and we're traveling farther away from the ones we came through in New York. You really need to make the decision sooner rather than later. Talk to Roger and then let me know."

"Does Da know?"

"No, I didn't tell him I suspected; I wanted to wait until I was sure. Do you want me to tell him or should I wait?"

"Give me a few days, please," Brianna asked. "I want to know what I'm going to do before I let him know. I don't want him to get excited about it and then let him down by telling him later that I'm leaving."

Claire nodded. She knew Jamie would be devastated to find out Brianna was leaving with his grandchild in her belly, but in her head, she knew it would be for the best. Still, she couldn't help but begin to picture a life of being grandparents with him, having been denied raising their own children together. "Alright," she said, standing and then reaching out to help Bree up as well. "Best finish up quickly before Jamie thinks we've wandered off."


Jamie and William went out to look for game, leaving Ian and Roger to tend to the camp. They walked along quietly together until William finally cleared his throat and spoke. "I'm very sorry about all the trouble yesterday."

"Dinna fash," Jamie replied. "It's I who should be apologizing. I lost my temper wi' ye and I'm sorry for it. It had nothing to do wi' ye, lad."

William nodded and they continued on in silence. Suddenly, William lifted his rifle and took a shot, taking down a rabbit. Jamie laughed and clapped him on the back. "Aye, yer a braw shot, Willie. I didna even see that rabbit!"

William smiled and walked off to retrieve his game. He knelt down to quickly dress the game. "Mind ye save the pelt!" Jamie hollered after him.

After William had dressed the game, they continued on. "Did Sir John teach ye tae hunt?" Jamie asked.

"Yes," William responded.

Jamie sighed, cursing the fact that he had to navigate these conversations with his children. He knew in his mind what he did for both his children, giving them up, was the right thing to do at the time. But that didn't stop his heart from aching at the fact that they both thought of someone else when they thought of their father.

At least with Brianna, he didn't have to face the idea that her father was still alive and wanting to claim her. Frank had been dead for more than ten years and Jamie knew the lass had room in her heart for him. William was a different story entirely. Lord John was alive and would soon be awaiting the arrival of William.

Lord John was his friend and he had always been grateful to him for his care of Willie. But now that Willie knew the truth, it changed things. Jamie was no longer the silent father in the shadows. He was vying for a piece of his son's heart and even if William was willing to give it, would John stand by and let it happen? Would John understand that Jamie was willing to share Willie's heart with him?

His heart had never felt so full in all his life, but with that brought worry, fear, and the potential for pain. All he had ever hoped for had finally come true. He had Claire and the children by his side, but he had never anticipated the difficulty of that. For years he had only to worry about himself. Of course, there had been the everyday worries of ensuring his sister and her family were provided for, but it had been thirty years since he had held anybody's heart in his hands. Suddenly, out of the blue, he had been handed three hearts, wounded ones at that. He felt the responsibility of that immensely.

They continued on, father and son, until they had collected enough game to feed his large family. As they walked back to the camp, Jamie silently put an arm around Willie, who did not protest or pull away. He supposed that was as good a start as any.


Later that night, Jamie and Claire made love slowly, their attempts to keep each other quiet ending up with both of them dissolving in laughter. After, they laid tangled together smiling and kissing, still craving intimacy. "I never thought I'd laugh in the bed of a woman again, Sassenach."

Claire giggled and held his hand tightly. "We're not exactly in bed."

"Ye ken well what I mean, Sassenach," he replied, nibbling at the back of her neck.

She let out a small shriek and Jamie clamped a hand over her mouth. "Shhhhh, mo nighean donn, ye'll wake the bairns."

"This trip reminds me of what life was like when Brianna was small, glued to my side. I don't think I had any privacy for at least ten years." Jamie went quiet suddenly and stilled. "I'm sorry if it pains you to hear me talk about her as a child."

"It's no' that, Sassenach. I love hearing about her and someday I hope to be able to say that I’ve learned everything there is to ken about her."

"What is it then?" Claire asked, turning to face Jamie. She stroked his cheek tenderly with the back of her hand.

"It's difficult for me to think of ye and Frank needing privacy," he responded gruffly, his voice choking a bit on Frank's name.

Claire sighed; she knew this conversation was coming. They had barely any time to talk alone those last few days, with all the energy they had been spending on William and Brianna. Jamie had managed to fill her in on most of his life in the last thirty years, but they hadn't spoken much, if at all, about her relationship with Frank.

"Did ye...did ye lie with him, Claire? I need to know."

"Yes, Jamie. I did have sex with Frank, though not often. He was my husband." Despite her best efforts, her voice had a defensive edge to it.

"I ken that."

"I'm sorry that hurts you, Jamie, but I can't take it back, and I don't know that I would anyway."

His eyes flashed with fury, reflecting off the light of the campfire. He disentangled himself from Claire and sat up with his knees pulled to his chest. Claire sat up and reached out to touch his shoulder, but he flinched back. Breathing heavily, he asked, "Did ye fall in love with him again, then? After ye left?"

"No," Claire replied simply. "I never loved anyone else after you."

"But ye shared yer bed with him?"


"How could ye if ye didna even love him?" His voice was a quiet fury.

"I tried to make my marriage work, damnit," Claire hissed back. She breathed deeply trying to quell her desire to scream.

"And did it, Claire? Were ye happy with him?"

"I just told you I didn't love him, Jamie. But I did what I could to make a happy family for Brianna. And fuck you for trying to make me feel bad about it. I did what you asked, and now you're going to hold it against me?"

"Fuck me? Like ye fucked Frank?"

"You are not allowed to be angry about that. You told me, you made me promise to go back to a man that loved me and would protect us. Do you remember that or have you lost your memories in your old age?"

"Aye, I asked ye tae do that, for Faith and then I asked ye again for Brianna. But I didna ask ye to lie with him. I never asked that of ye."

"And how did you expect me to make the marriage work then, Jamie? I lived in a loveless marriage for twenty years, dammit. And I did it for you." Jamie looked at her incredulously. "Yes, that's right, Jamie. Everything I did for the last thirty years was for you or because of you."

"Well ye didna have tae do me any favors!"

"Christ, Jamie. Is it not enough that I sacrificed any chance of happiness for you? If you had preferred I died at Culloden instead, then you shouldn't have forced me to go through the stones in the first place."

"It isna my fault ye werena happy. Ye canna blame that on me."

"Can't I? Do you know that Frank gave me an out, when I first went back? And again, after we moved to America? He told me I could go, divorce him. And I chose not to. It would have been the best thing for me to divorce him and live my own life, raise Brianna on my own, but I didn't. I made the difficult choice, chose a life with a man I didn't love, and who made me regret my decision more and more with each passing day. And do you know why I did that, Jamie?"

"Ye did it for Brianna," he hissed, "so she wouldna grow up without a father."

"No, Jamie. Brianna loved Frank and he loved her. He was a good father to her. But she would have been fine growing up without a father. I did it for you. I did it because it's what you wanted for us. I did it to honor what I thought were your final wishes." Tears were streaming down her face and she didn't bother to wipe them away.

They sat silently for a while, Claire crying, Jamie breathing shakily. Finally, he reached a hand out and took hers in it, squeezing. "I'm sorry, Claire. I never meant for ye to lead a life that wasna happy."

"What did you think my life would be like if I went back to Frank?" His touch calmed her, evening out her voice.

"I dinna ken. I didna think much about it, really. I thought I would be dead. It didna matter much to me at that point to think about yer future, except that you and Brianna were safe."

"We were safe, Jamie. And Brianna was loved. The fact that I was not was a sacrifice I made willingly for you, and I won't resent you for it. But I won't have you resenting me for it either. I'm not asking you to treat me like a martyr, but I need you to know that I did it for you."

"I ken, Claire. And I'm grateful to ye. And Frank."

"Frank asked me to put the past behind me, Jamie. It was a condition of him taking me back."

"A condition? That bastard put a condition on protecting ye and the bairn?" His hand squeezed her harder than he intended.

"Ouch!" she whispered, pulling her hand away. "Yes, he put conditions on it. And to honor your request, I accepted them. I had to lock you away for twenty years. And even so, he never let me forget my betrayal. And I could never truly forget you. Every time he touched me, I wished it was you. When we had sex, I closed my eyes and imagined you. And Frank knew it, resented me for it."

Jamie put his hand on the back of her head and pulled her in close, their foreheads touching. "Did he hurt ye, Claire?"

She shook her head, the tears falling freely again. "No, not in the way you're thinking. He never beat me, never laid a hand on Brianna in anger. But he hurt me nonetheless, in a thousand little ways every single day."

He kissed her nose and pulled her down so her head was in his lap. "Tell me, mo nighean donn. Tell me, please, so I can make it better." He twined his fingers through her hair over and over.

"I don't know that you can erase twenty years of emotional abuse, but I'll tell you if you want to hear."

She paused and Jamie squeezed her shoulder, encouraging her to go on. So she did. She told him everything she could remember. Frank's infidelity and the pain she felt each time she found evidence of a new affair. The way he undermined her parenting with Brianna, ignoring her choices and doing what he wanted. How he openly disparaged her decision to go to medical school and used her absence at home to isolate Brianna from her.

"We could fight about anything, and he would bring it around back to you and what I did. He made me put the past behind, and I tried. But he refused to do the same. While I struggled every day to put the past behind me and move forward, he would continually throw it in my face. I was completely trapped. And that was how I spent twenty years."

"I'm sorry, Claire. I'm so verra sorry," Jamie said finally, stroking her hair softly. "If I had known that was the kind of man he was, I never would have asked that of ye. Ye never told me -"

"Don't blame yourself, Jamie. I didn't know he had that part of him either. He was never like that before. A bit possessive, perhaps. A little condescending at times. But I never knew the depths of his vindictiveness."

Jamie reached down and lifted her into his lap. Her eyes were red, her nose puffy. He pulled her into his arms and whispered to her softly. "Mo graidh, mo chridhe. I love ye, and I'm so sorry ye went through that and still didna resent me. I couldna blame ye for it if ye did. To hold ye in my arms again is the greatest gift. I'm sorry I get jealous. It was so hard for me to think of ye with him, and him with our bairn all those years. Sometimes I was happy, knowing ye were safe, but other times it would make me so angry I wanted to reach through the stones and strangle ye."

"I felt the same way, you know. It took me a long time to stop being angry at you. But I always loved you."

"And I you, Sassenach." He kissed away the tears on her cheeks before placing his big hands on both of them, practically enveloping her entire face. "Let's get some sleep now, aye? The bairns will be up in a few hours and we've another long day of travel ahead of us."

Claire nodded and moved out of his lap, lying down on their meager pallet of blankets. Jamie shifted himself and laid behind her, molding his body to hers to keep her warm and safe. Before she drifted off to sleep, Jamie whispered into her hair, "I love ye mo nighean donn, now and forever."

Chapter Text


Three days had gone by and Brianna still had not told Roger or Jamie about her pregnancy. She was still sickly and pale, and Claire was finding it harder and harder to stave off Jamie’s anxious inquiries about her health. They could have secrets, but not lies, and her answers to his questions were definitely teetering on the line between the two. To make matters worse, Bree was avoiding her, as difficult as that was under the circumstances.

On the fourth afternoon of their travels, they came upon a small village on the Hudson River. Most of the towns they had passed along the way had been burned by the Redcoats as they left Saratoga, but, likely owing to its small size, Catskill had been left mostly unscathed. There were only a handful of houses and a small general store, but one of the town's more opportunistic residents had turned their home into a makeshift tavern.

It was there that they stopped, stretching their travel-weary legs as Jamie went inside and saw about the business of arranging rooms, hot meals, and some semblance of hot baths for everyone. Claire couldn't wait to bathe; their four days on the road had afforded them little opportunity to do so, but her most pressing concern was getting Brianna alone.

As soon as Jamie signaled for them to make their way inside, Claire grabbed Brianna firmly by the arm and announced that she was taking her to their room to examine her. Brianna opened her mouth to protest but Claire turned her best mother glare on her and forged ahead.

When Claire closed the door to the small room, Brianna turned on her. "Mama, what are you doing? You can't treat me like a child!"

"Well, you're acting like a child! You've been doing your bloody best to avoid me for days, like some sullen teenager." Bree opened her mouth to protest but Claire stopped her with one raised finger. "Brianna Ellen, you have to tell Roger what's going on. And it has to be tonight."

Brianna's pale face seemed to melt in front of Claire's eyes as tears began to stream slowly down her cheeks. "Mama," she sobbed, "I'm scared."

Claire pulled her in close, rubbing her back and whispering, "Shhhhh….shhhh, darling. It's alright. It's alright." Even though Brianna stood several inches over Claire, she still felt like a small child in her arms.

She led her daughter over to the bed, pulling a handkerchief out of her sleeve and handing it to her as they sat. "Brianna, what are you scared of?"

"Everything!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms in the air. "I'm scared to tell Roger because I know he'll want to go back.  I'm scared to tell Da that I'm leaving so soon. And I'm scared of…..of never seeing any of you ever again." She leaned on Claire’s shoulder and sobbed.

Claire put her arms around her again, this time rocking slowly back and forth as she had when Brianna was a baby. She felt her own eyes begin to burn with tears as she realized that her daughter was telling her that she had already made up her mind to go back. "It's ok, Bree. It's ok. Shhhhh. I understand, I do." She smoothed down Bree's hair while her own tears fell into it, mingling with the fiery waves.

"Mama," Brianna finally said, pulling herself upright and looking Claire in the eye. "Can you tell Da? Please. I can't...I can't bear the thought of looking him in the eyes when he finds out I'm leaving him."

"You will say goodbye to him, though, right?" Claire asked.

Bree nodded. "Yes of course. I just...I need you to tell him first. I know it's barely been a week, but I see how you look at each other, how he calms when you're near him. I need him to hear this from you first."

"Alright," Claire replied, taking a deep breath. "There's no time like the present. Let's all get ourselves settled in our rooms and get this sorted out, alright?"

Brianna nodded and Claire pulled her in to kiss her forehead. Then, lifting Brianna's chin, she looked her in the eye and said, "I know what it is to sacrifice for your unborn child. So does Jamie. We'll support you, even if it breaks our hearts."


After they bathed, Claire snuggled up with Jamie in their bed, using him as her personal furnace. It was not yet dinner time, but they had nowhere to be and nothing to do. The bed was a haven after sleeping on the ground for three nights. Her mind wandered to all the cold nights she had spent on the road with him all those years ago, her body molded into his as if they were made to fit together.

"What're ye smiling about, mo nighean donn?"

She kissed the hollow just above his collarbone. "Just thinking about how many nights you've kept me warm and how good it feels to know that I'll get to spend the rest of my nights being warmed by you." She fiddled with the top button of his sark nervously. "I never thought I'd get to feel safe and loved like this again."

He kissed the top of her head. "Aye, Sassenach. Tis a gift that ye've come back to me, you and the bairns, a gift I'll no' take for granted."

How will I ever tell him what I need to?

He cleared his throat and gripped Claire’s shoulder tightly. "Brianna," he whispered hoarsely. "She's with child."

It wasn’t a question, but Claire answered him anyway. “Yes.”

“Is that no’ good news, Sassenach? Should we no’ be celebratin’? Is there something wrong with the bairn? Or Brianna?” His voice was on the edge of panic and Claire held him tightly.

“As far as I know, both Bree and the baby are perfectly fine, though it’s really too early to know for sure.” Claire sighed and sat up in the bed. “She’s not going to stay, Jamie. It’s too dangerous for her to have a baby here. She wants to do what’s best for the baby, and that means going back.”

“I see.”

“Jamie, you have to know that it’s for the best.”

His fingers tapped nervously on the side of his legs as his face turned crimson. “Aye. I ken.” He choked on the words.

Claire stood up and reached into her satchel, searching for her hairbrush. Once she retrieved it, she sat down on the edge and began brushing her hair, slowly and methodically. Jamie was clearly on the verge of an emotional eruption and the brushing soothed her and, she hoped, him. He remained silent, but it was the kind of silence that was louder than any shouting or raging imaginable.

After a time, Claire set the brush back on the nightstand and sat in front of Jamie. “Will you plait it for me?”

He looked at her as if she had wakened him from a dream but nodded and started working on the braid. “Talk to me, Jamie,” she said simply, once his fingers had found their rhythm.

“I dinna ken what there is to say.”

“You could start by telling me what you’re feeling right now.”

He shrugged. “I dinna see what it matters how I feel about it. It willna change anything.”

“No, but it might make you feel better.”

He finished the plait and tied it with a leather string she had handed to him. “Feel better? Ye think that if I tell ye how I’m feeling right now, I’ll feel better? Feel better about what exactly? That my daughter, having just arrived a week ago, is leaving me again? That she’s taking the only grandchild of my blood wi’ her? And how exactly am I supposed to feel better about any of that?” He had gotten off the bed and was pacing the room like a caged lion.

“I didn’t mean to imply that there was anything I could say to make this situation any better. I just meant that – “

“Did ye tell her to go, Claire?”

“No, I did not. I talked to her about the realities of what she would face giving birth here, but I did not advise her either way! Do you think I want to lose her, Jamie?”

“Of course not, Claire, but I dinna think you understand what this is like for me,” a small sob escaped his lips and he had to steady himself on the back of a chair. Claire took a deep breath. She wanted to tell him what it was like for her, thinking about never seeing her baby again, never holding her grandchild in her arms. She wanted to lash out, tell him to stop being so selfish. But this was not Frank, and this was not about her. Not at that moment. Jamie wanted to lash out, wanted her to yell at him so he could feel angry and scream back, but that was not how they were going to deal with this.

“You’re right,” she finally said. “I can’t possibly imagine how difficult this is for you. I’m sorry. I wish there was something I could do to make this better.” She walked over to him, tentatively, and put her arms around him.  This small gesture of tenderness from his wife broke him. Tears began to fall from his eyes as his breathing turned into small, wracking sobs. Claire helped him sit in the chair before his knees gave out completely. She sat on the floor at his feet and placed her head in his lap.

“Why Claire? Why me? You came to me, ye carried our bairn, but she was ripped away before I could even lay my eyes on her.” Claire felt her own tears fall at the mention of Faith. “Then you were taken from me wi’ my second bairn in yer belly. And I never thought I’d see either of ye ever again. I even started to get used to the idea. But ye came back to me. God brought ye back to me and my bairn too. Do ye ken how happy that made me? I thought that maybe after all my years of sufferin’, I was finally getting my reward. But no. It was just a cruel joke because no more than a week later, she’s being taken from me again, and taking my flesh and blood with her. So, I want to ken why. I want to ken what I have done for God to be sae cruel to me. Is there something wrong wi’ me? Am I no’ suitable to be a father? A grandsire? I canna think of any other reason than that.”

“No, Jamie. You were born to be a father. I don’t know why God, or the universe, or fate has taken so many children from you. I wish I knew. I wish I knew why I didn’t get to be a mother to Faith. I wish I knew why I had to leave Fergus. But you know that it’s not because either of us are unsuitable parents. Look at you! You’ve been collecting your own army of children since before Faith was even born. Fergus, Ian, Marsali; do you not think you’re a father to them?”

“Claire, I love them with all my heart. I would do anything for them, just as if they were my own flesh and blood. But why canna I do that for my own flesh and blood?”

“William is your flesh and blood. You got to have a hand in raising him, for a while anyway.”

He scoffed. “Raise him? I was no’ but a servant to him.”

Claire couldn’t help but laugh at that. “You stubborn bloody Scot. Do you really not know that he thinks you walk on water? Jamie, when he was telling us about you, before he ever knew who I was or that you were his father…he said those were the happiest years of his life. He said you were his best friend. He was devastated when you left.”

“Is that true, Claire?”

“Yes. Why would I lie to you? Jamie, he wanted to come back to find you.” She stood and climbed into his lap, pulling his face between her hands. “You are a wonderful father and grandfather. I know it. This isn’t about you, Jamie. That’s the hell of being a parent, isn’t it? It can’t ever be about you. It’s always about what’s best for them.”

“I ken, Sassenach.” He buried his head in her hair. “That doesna mean it doesna hurt, though.”

“I’m hurting, too, Jamie,” she said quietly. “The thought that I might never see her again…”

“Claire, listen to me. If ye want to go back with her, I’ll no’ blame ye. Ye’ve brought both of my children back to me. I got to see ye again and ken that yer alive and well. If ye want to go with her, and be with her and the bairn, I willna resent ye for it.”

“You stupid man. Don’t you know by now that I’m never leaving you again, Jamie? Nothing could make me leave you again. I gave thirty years of my life to Brianna, and if there were a way to give her thirty more and still be with you, then I would do it in a heartbeat. But it’s our turn to be happy now.” She pulled his face to hers and kissed him slowly, passionately. “I love you, Jamie Fraser,” she gasped, pulling back briefly to catch her breath. “And I’ll never be parted from you again.”


They decided on the particulars of the MacKenzies' departure over dinner. William sulked like a sullen teenager the entire meal, and Claire felt sorry for him. In a short time, William had come to believe that the sun rose and set on his sister.

"Ye'll take two of the horses wi' ye." Jamie was stoic, his face inscrutable, though his voice was gruffer than usual. Claire doubted anyone else would notice. "Ian'll go wi' ye." Ian nodded his agreement. "If the Hunters havena left Saratoga yet, ye can come back wi' them." He gave Ian a knowing look and Ian's pale skin flushed red.

"And how will ye get back from there, Cousin?"

"Roger has family there. We'll stay with them through the winter and then return to Boston in the spring," Bree answered.

"Are you sure this is safe?" William asked.

Jamie turned on him and raised an eyebrow. "Dinna fash. They'll be safe with Ian."

William clamped his mouth shut and sat back in his chair.

"Well," Jamie said, slapping his hand on table. "I think this news calls for a celebration, does it not? Ian, go fetch us all a dram and we'll toast to the wonderful news."

Jamie reached over to William and clapped him on the back affectionately. "It's alright lad." William nodded and gave a small smile.

Ian came back with the drinks. Jamie stood up and moved behind Brianna, raising his glass. "To my beautiful daughter, Brianna, and the child that she carries, beannachd Dia dhuit. May he be healthy and strong, and his life filled wi' love. Slàinte mhath."

"Slàinte mhath."

Tears were pouring down Bree's face. Jamie bent down and said quietly to her, "Dinna weep, a leannan, M’annsachd. I'll always be wi' ye."


Jamie and Claire tossed and turned all night, reaching and clinging to each other for comfort. Claire's stomach felt like it was full of lead. How was she going to do this? How could she say goodbye to her daughter, knowing she might never see her again?

Memories of Faith came flooding back to her, that long day when she had held her baby in her arms, sang to her, and then finally kissed her goodbye as Mother Hildegard took her away. She felt again the choking grief; once she had been sure she would drown in it. But she hadn't. With Jamie, she had picked up the broken pieces and put them back together again, slowly and clumsily, like a child mending a broken vase. Piece by piece they had filled the cracks with their love, until they were whole again. Not the same, but whole, nonetheless.

She rolled to her side and clung to Jamie, seeking his warmth, his stability. Yes, they had done it before, and they would do it again. The cracks would be deeper this time. Small pieces would crumble to dust, leaving tiny gaps and fissures. But they would put themselves back together again.

Jamie had once said to her that the only way to move ahead was to carry their burden together. After thirty years of carrying hers alone, she would accept this additional hardship for the sake of being able to carry it with the man she loved.


They were up before dawn, ready to say their goodbyes. Silently, Jamie and Claire put together a satchel of provisions for the travelers and readied the horses.  Brianna was inside with Roger, saying her goodbyes to William.

Jamie glanced at Claire and her weak smile both broke his heart and filled it with hope. All he had dreamed about had come to pass. He would not let the sorrow of letting his daughter and grandchild go overshadow the fact of their being. Brianna was alive and whole. She was loved and cared for. And though he might never meet him, he and Claire would continue to live on through their grandchild, and his children, and theirs. That was what was important, not his selfish desire to keep them close.

Brianna came outside, eyes already red rimmed and swollen. Claire nodded at Jamie, and he pulled his daughter aside, sitting on a small bench with her. He picked up her hands and brought her knuckles to his lips. "Brianna."

"Da, I'm so sor-"

"No. Dinna be sorry, lass." He kept one hand clasped around hers and used the other to push a strand of her hair away from her face. "Dinna ever be sorry for protecting your child. I told ye that when ye were in yer Ma's belly, I sent her away to protect ye. Ye canna be sorry for doing the same."

"I just wish we'd had more time together." She sniffled and blew her nose into her handkerchief. "I barely got to know you."

"Did ye no' tell me that yer mother told ye all there was to ken about me already? I'm sure she flattered me o'er much, so mebbe it's best ye leave before ye get tae ken the real me."

This brought a smile to her face. She leaned against the back of the bench and Jamie put his arm around her, their heads leaning in together. "The day I thought would be my last day on earth, yer mother didna want to leave me. She hadna told me yet that she was wi' child, but I kent it. I told her she had tae go tae protect ye, that ye were the only thing that would be left of me on this earth. Now I sit wi' ye, an auld man, and I'll tell ye the same. Someday, yer mother and I will both be gone, but you will still be here, and so will this child. I had to let her go, and now I have to do the same wi' you, and it breaks my heart, a nighean, but ye must do it for the bairn."

She buried her face in his coat and he put both arms around her. "Tis a gift that I was able to hold ye in my arms, even for this short time, mo chridhe."

"Take care of Mama? And William? They both need you, Da. And be gentle with him. He seems prickly on the outside, but he's soft on the inside. He needs you to help him find his way."

"Aye, I will. And ye tell that Roger Mac that if he ever hurts ye, I'll wait 200 years just so I can haunt him." This elicited a small smile. Jamie wiped the tears from her face with his sleeve and kissed the top of her forehead. "I love ye, mo nieghan ruadh. Now go say goodbye to yer mother."


Claire had retreated into the inn, wanting to give them privacy. She sat at a table, breathing slowly, in and out. When Brianna entered, she stood, greeting her with a warm embrace, kissing her cheeks and running her hands over her red curls. She gestured for Bree to sit and pulled up a chair close to her. She clasped their hands together, taking a deep breath before she spoke.

"Brianna, my baby. Did you know I can look at you and still see you as you were, tiny and plump, with the most adorable shock of red hair on your head, your ears sticking out a little?" Self-consciously, Bree brought her fingers to her hair, to cover them, but Claire pushed the hand gently back down. "You will always be my baby, and now that you are going to be a mother yourself, you will know what that's like.

"I can't believe I might never get to look at your face again. I used to watch you for hours, studying every bit of you, memorizing you.  I thought I was foolish for doing so sometimes, always worrying about what I should be getting accomplished instead, but now I'm so thankful for every minute of it. Remember that." She paused and Bree nodded, not quite able to meet her mother's eyes.

"I wish there was a way I could guarantee your safety here, that I could promise you that I could protect you both, but I can't. The hardest thing for a mother to learn, Brianna, is that you can't protect your children forever. Even if I went with you, I couldn't protect you." Her voice broke and Bree leaned forward, placing her forehead on Claire’s.

"Mama, I don't want you to feel guilty about staying, ok? I've watched you staring out the windows too many nights with a look of loneliness on your face. I know that I would never be enough, that this baby would never be enough. You need Da; I see that now, and he needs you. You two are a life-force together." She chuckled, the tips of her ears turning pink. "I joked with Roger that it was a good thing I hadn't seen you together when I was younger; you would have been the most embarrassing parents. I can see you both chaperoning my school dances and giving each other, little looks, dancing together too close. You would have destroyed my reputation."

They both laughed then, and Bree went on. "Take care of each other, please. I want to always be able to think of you growing old together. Please keep each other safe."

Claire nodded. "I will; we will."

"I love you, Mama. I hope you never regret that I kept you from him for so long."

"Bree, no. Don't ever think that. I could never regret sacrificing anything to keep you safe, even losing Jamie. Even losing you. You are the most important thing I have ever done in my life, and I'd do it all again if I had to.  Jamie would too. You are our greatest gift."

Brianna sniffed. "Da said just about the same thing."

"Because we mean it. Do you know how much we wanted you? I don't know that I ever told you that before."

"You didn’t, but I knew."

"I love you, Brianna. I am your mother and that will never change, even if we are separated by two hundred years." She stood then, straightening her skirts and brushing back her unruly hair.

Brianna stood with her, towering over her. Neither of them had any more words, and Claire hoped fervently as she embraced her that it would be enough.

They walked out of the inn together, arms looped around each other's waist. Jamie was standing by the horses with Roger and Ian. Jamie was talking to Roger with a stern look on his face; Roger looked like a child being chided next to him. Claire smiled to herself and hugged Bree one last time.

Brianna walked away from her, slowly moving toward the horses. Jamie reached a hand out to her and pulled her in. Claire could see him murmuring into her air, sure he was speaking to her in his melodic Gaelic. They broke apart and Roger reached over to her, Jamie handing her to him as if it were their wedding day.

Head down, he walked back to Claire and stood with her looping his arm around her. William joined them at Jamie's other side, and they stood together, holding each other up as the MacKenzies and Ian mounted the horses and slowly began their journey. Bree was riding behind Roger, her head resting on his shoulders. As they moved away, she turned around one last time and gave her parents and brother a small wave. Then they were gone.

Chapter Text


Claire and Jamie rode in the wagon in companionable silence for some time. William was somewhat ahead of them; his broody mood had only worsened with Bree’s leaving. “Were you that insufferable as a young man?” Claire asked, teasingly.

“Sassenach, when I was his age, I’d already been flogged twice by the British and was on the run from the law.”

“Hmmmph. That didn’t exactly answer my question, you know.”

“The answer is no, I wasna broody, as ye say. I didna have time to be broody.”

“What about when you were a teenager? Before Fort William and everything that happened?”

 He considered this carefully, trying to remember all those years ago. “Weel, no. I wouldna say I was like that. I was a fairly happy lad then.” He paused, unsure if he should go on. “Willie’s mother was like that. Broody. And that’s putting it mildly. His temper’s all mine, I’ll admit to that, but that dark cloud over him isna from me.”

“When he first came to me in Saratoga, I thought he must have had a very unhappy childhood. He just seemed so sad and lonely all the time.”

“I wouldna say he had an unhappy childhood, Sassenach. Lonely, mebbe, but Bree was an only child and she didna seem to think she had an unhappy childhood.”

“What is his stepfather like? Lord John? Do you think he’s treated William well?”

“Lord John?” Jamie’s voice showed his shock at her question. “Claire, John is one of the gentlest souls I’ve ever kent. And he loves Willie as if he were his own. Ye’ve nothing to worry about. The lad’s been loved, well-cared for, and educated in the finest schools. He’s never wanted for anything. “

“Sometimes I used to worry that Brianna was going to grow up spoiled. I would think about how little she would have had here, but I think it would have made her appreciate what she had even more.” She laughed, almost to herself. “Whenever Frank and I gave her a present, for a birthday or Christmas, I would try to picture what you would think of it.”

Jamie slid over on the wagon seat, moving closer to her. He put his arm around her. “And what did ye think I would say.”

“Usually something about a waste of money!”

He made a Scottish noise in his throat. “Do ye think all those things made her happy, Sassenach?”

Claire considered this carefully. “I think they made her happy in the moment, but they aren’t what made her have a happy nature. But if what you say of William’s mother is true, I suppose he comes by his melancholy honestly.”

Jamie made another grunt, inviting no further comment on William’s mother. Claire was just about to change the subject when Jamie slowed the horses and looked at her with a finger to his lips. She shook her head, unsure what was happening at first, until she heard the thundering sound of horse hoofs approaching. Jamie handed her the reins and was on his feet with his pistols at the ready. Claire’s heart raced as the sound moved closer and closer.

Slowly, Jamie lowered his guns. Claire looked at him and he glanced back. “It’s Ian. He’s got Brianna wi’ him.”

“Brianna?” Claire whipped around and saw that William had joined them. He had double backed around when he’d heard the horse approaching. Claire thrust the reins back in Jamie’s hands and scrambled down from the wagon, but William reached Ian first. “What happened?” he demanded of Ian.

Ian held Brianna in front of him, unconscious.  “Help me get her down!’ I shouted at William, but he was already reaching up and taking Bree from Ian’s arms, carrying her to a soft patch of grass to lay her down on. “What happened?” she demanded. She leaned over Bree, assessing her injuries.  She was bleeding from the side and back of her head, but an assessment of her pupils did not reveal any of the telltale signs of a brain bleed.

Jamie had frantically hitched the wagon and ran over to Claire, kneeling beside her. He gave Claire a questioning look, his eyes wide with fear. “I don’t know,” Claire replied. “I don’t see any signs of permanent injury, but without the proper equipment or even light I can’t be sure. Ian, did she vomit or have any sort of irregular breathing?”

“No Auntie, not that I could tell. She was just out cold.”

Claire nodded and let out a breath of tentative relief. She looked at Jamie. “I think she’ll be alright. I can’t be sure, but it doesn’t sound like there’s any serious internal damage.”

Jamie nodded, the worry etched in his brow relaxing so slightly, only Claire noticed it. He turned to Ian. “What the hell happened?”

“I’m sorry Uncle. They came upon us at night. I tried to fight them off, but there were three of them. They took most of our provisions and one of the horses. They would have taken that one too, but I dragged Bree over to it and took off before they could.”

“What did they do to the lass?” Jamie asked through gritted teeth. Claire could tell he was holding on to his temper by a thread.

“They hit her over the head with their rifles. Both of them did.”

Jamie stood and began pacing frantically.

“Ian,” Claire asked looking around. “Where is Roger?”

Ian shifted his weight from side to side and shook his head.

“Where is Roger?” Claire demanded again.

“They shot him, Auntie Claire. At least twice. I didna stay around to count.”

“You left him there?” Claire roared.

“Auntie, I had tae. He was already gone, and I had tae take care of Brianna. I couldna go back for him, wi’ Brianna fainted dead away and no idea if they were still around or had friends nearby!”

“Roger…” Claire choked. She looked down at Bree and stroked her hair gently.

“Where was this?” Jamie asked.

“I couldna tell ye exactly, Uncle. I dinna ken how many miles we rode yesterday.”

Jamie stalked over to the wagon and began unhitching one of the horses. Claire was trying to tend to Brianna, but when she saw what Jamie intended to do, she turned to William, “Here, William, sit with Brianna for a moment.”

“Jamie,” she said, running over to him. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m goin’ back and I’m goin’ tae retrieve Roger’s body.” His hands shook with anger, his fingers fumbling on the harness straps.

“No, you are not,” Claire replied sternly.

“Claire, dinna try tae stop me. I need tae make this right for Brianna.”

“And what if you run into the deserters yourself while you’re out there? What if you put yourself in danger and the body isn’t even there anymore?”

“If I do run into them, all the better,” he roared. “Claire, I’ll no’ sit here wi’ my son-in-law dead, and my daughter –.” He choked on his words, unable to finish. He turned from Claire, focusing again on the harnesses.

Finally, overcome by the flood of emotions coursing through her body, Claire stomped her foot on the ground and screamed, “Jamie, listen to me, goddammit!” Tears ran down her beet red face and her entire body was shaking. Suddenly, it became all too much to bear, and she put her hands over her eyes and fell to her knees, sobbing.

She cried for Roger and the loss of his steadfast friendship. She cried for Brianna, knowing all too well the endless sea of grief she was going to wake up adrift on. She cried for their unborn child, who would never know his father. Everything Claire had gone through, everything she and Jamie had sacrificed, all the suffering they went through, and all she had managed to do was make her daughter a widow at the age of thirty, just as she had been.

Suddenly, she was thirty years old again, on top of the hill at Craigh Na Dun, saying goodbye to Jamie. She was waking up on that same hill in 1948, a pregnant widow ripped away from the love of her life. She was raising a baby who she thought would never know how much she resembled her father, would never see with her own two eyes the love that had created her.

And now Brianna would be doing the same thing.  She truly was a widow. Her baby truly would grow up without a father. She would never get a second chance.

Claire became aware of Jamie’s arms wrapped around her, and she leaned into his embrace, his touch the only thing keeping her moored in reality. She had her eyes squeezed shut and her ears were ringing loudly, but she could feel those strong arms around her, and she knew she would find her way back from the brink.

Would Brianna?


She woke up in a strange bed, confused by the unrecognizable surroundings. Was she at a hotel? Had she been on vacation?  Had Brianna been with her?

Then she heard a voice say softly, “Mo graidh,” and felt a calloused finger push away the flyaway hairs on her forehead. Her mind slowly came into focus as Jamie murmured to her in Gaelic, touching her reverently the entire time. I am in the year 1777. Jamie is with me. Roger is dead.

“What happened?” Her voice cracked and she suddenly felt how parched her lips were. “Water, please,” she requested, but then saw that Jamie already had a mug of water in his hands. He helped her to sit up and held his hands over hers to steady them as she lifted the cup to her mouth and drank slowly. “Where are we Jamie?”

“We’re at an inn. Ye fainted dead away on me, and at first, I was sure I’d lost ye. I thought yer heart gave out. But then I remembered what ye taught me about checking for the heartbeat in a person’s wrist. Then I kent that ye were just sleeping, no’ dead. We didna ken what tae do, so we decided to load ye both in the wagon and keep moving until I found a place for ye to rest."

"Is Bree awake?"

"No, Willie is with her."

"That's not good. I should go check on her." She made to get up but Jamie gently pushed her back. "No' yet, mo chridhe. Ye need yer rest."

"Jamie, I have to make sure-"

"Claire. There's naught ye can do for her here. The lass suffered two blows to the head. She just needs tae rest, as do you."

"Jamie, please. I need to see her. Please." The pitch of her voice was going higher and she could feel the panic rising in her chest.

Jamie sighed and rubbed his face with his hand. "I can see ye'll no' rest until ye do, a nighean. Alright, let's get ye on yer feet."

He helped her up and the room began to spin. She gripped Jamie’s arm and let his strength steady her. "Are ye alright?"

"Yes," Claire said as her head stopped floating and the room settled. "Let's go."

Brianna's room was just next door. William sat in a chair next to her bed, his eyes closed, dozing. When he heard Jamie and Claire enter, he scrambled to his feet. "Mother Claire. Are you well?"

"Yes, William. I'm alright. How is Brianna?"

He glanced at her shape on the bed. "I don't know. Nothing has changed."

Claire moved to the bed and sat down on the edge of it, grasping one of Bree's hands in her own. Her auburn curls were splayed across the pillowcase and her face looked so peaceful Claire could see the baby she once had been. Brushing a few stray hairs off her forehead, Claire gently lifted the lids of her eyes and examined her. She ghosted a finger over the lump on the side of her head. Christ, if it had been an inch lower, they would have gotten her in the temple. Gently, she lifted her head off the pillow and examined the lump on the back of her head. She felt her pulse, strong and steady, and lowered her ear to her chest to listen to her breathing.

"What do ye think, Claire?" Jamie asked quietly.

"Everything seems to be alright. I suppose we just have to wait for her to wake up. Hopefully by the morning." She bent down to kiss Bree gently on the forehead.

"Sassenach, time for ye tae go back tae bed." Jamie reached out a hand to help her up. "I'll settle ye in and then see about having some supper brought up. Willie, ye make sure ye eat as well. Ian can bide wi’ Brianna for a while." William nodded and sat back down in the chair.

Jamie escorted Claire back to their room and insisted she get back in bed. "Jamie, I'm perfectly capable of going down for dinner."

"Claire," he said, gently leading her to the bed and settling her down on it. "Let me take care o' ye fer once. Fer all the times ye've mended me, can ye no' just let me take care of ye?"

She gave him a small smile and settled back into the bed. "Fine," she said. "But only because I love you."


"Jamie," Claire said later that evening. They were curled up in the bed together, Claire resting her head on Jamie's chest.

"Hmmm?" He was gently running his fingers through her hair, twirling it around his fingers absent-mindedly.

"I can't believe that Roger's gone. I've known him since he was just a little boy. How can he just be gone?"

"I'm sorry, Sassenach. I ken ye cared for him very much."

"When I think about telling Brianna when she wakes up. I don't have to imagine the pain she's going to go through." She snuggled in more closely and squeezed Jamie. He was there; he was alive.

"Aye," Jamie said hoarsely. "I'm sorry fer all that ye went through, Sassenach, grieving me."

She started to cry again, regret and pain and love storming inside of her. Finally, through a choked sob, she admitted the thought that had been pestering her mind all day. "It's my fault."

Jamie squeezed her tightly, pressing his lips into her hair. “No, mo chridhe. Dinna ever think that. Do ye remember just the other day ye told me tae stop blaming myself for everything? I willna let ye do it either. I –.”

“It’s my fault,” William’s voice said from the doorway. They had left the door unlatched so that he could easily update them of any changes in Bree during the night. He had apparently inherited his father’s cat-like ability to sneak up on people undetected.

“William, no.” Claire said immediately.

“Mother Claire, please. Don’t try to tell me otherwise. This is all my fault.” His voice was strained, and Claire could see that any argument with him could result in an explosion of emotions. “If I had never gone through those damn stones, none of this would have happened. Brianna and Roger would be living happily in England, and their baby would be safe. If it weren’t for me, we wouldn’t be traveling to Philadelphia in the middle of a bloody war. I am responsible for all of this.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “I accept my responsibility. My sister is my responsibility now, her and the baby. I will take care of them and make sure they are safe and want for nothing, ever.”

Claire’s heart broke for him then, this passionate, honorable, capricious young man who had become her son. She knew what his sense of honor meant to him, and though she couldn’t bear the thought of him bearing the burden of this tragedy, she knew that nothing she could say would change his mind. He was a stubborn, bloody Scot, just like his father, whether he looked the part or not.

Jamie got out of the bed and went to William, placing one hand on his shoulder. “Yer a good man, son. I ken ye’ll always take care of yer sister.”

“William,” Claire asked. “Was there something else you wanted to tell us? Has there been a change with Brianna?”

“Yes,” he said, shaking his head at himself for forgetting his purpose. “She’s been moaning and moving about in her sleep. Do you think that might mean she’s waking up?”

Claire was out of bed in a flash, practically running to Bree’s room, Jamie and William following. She sat down on the edge of the bed and placed a hand on her daughter’s cheek, gently patting at it. Jamie crouched on the floor next to them. “Bree? Brianna?” she said. “Wake up for mommy, darling.”

Brianna’s eyelids fluttered and then slowly opened. “Mama?”

Claire clasped her hands and bent down to kiss her cheek. “Yes, darling. It’s me. How do you feel?” She searched her eyes for any abnormalities.

“My head hurts.”

“Aye,” Jamie responded, stroking the top of her head. “Ye took quite a blow to the head, lass, but we’ll have ye feeling braw in no time.” Claire could see tears welling in his eyes. “Can ye sit up, a nighean?” He stood and reached his arms around her helping her into a sitting position against the headboard. He carefully eased himself on the bed next to her.

Her eyes searched around the room. “Where’s Roger? Is he ok?” Claire exchanged a glance with Jamie that Brianna did not miss. “What? Where is he?” She looked desperately between her mother and father.

The words choked in Claire’s throat and she shook her head. Jamie put an arm around Bree and reached out his other hand to Claire. “He didna make it, m'annsachd. He’s gone.”

“No.” Bree said. Once, driving in the dark on the way home from a late night at the hospital, a deer had run out in front of Claire’s car. She had slammed on the brakes but was unable to stop. In the briefest moment before the car collided into the beast, she had seen the panicked, desolate look in the deer’s eye. It was the same look she saw in her daughter’s eyes as she processed the news of her husband’s death. “It’s not possible,” she said, her voice a mixture of panic and doubt.

“I’m sorry, a leannan,” Jamie whispered.

William came forward then, crouching by the bed where Jamie had been moments before. “Sister,” he said quietly. “You don’t ever have to worry about being alone. I will be with you, always.”

Jamie patted Williams hand and nodded. “We all will,” he said to Bree. “We’ll always care for ye and the bairn.”

At the mention of the baby, Bree’s face changed from a stunned look of panic to a melted look of excruciating pain. She let loose a low, moaning sob. Jamie gathered her in his arms completely, rocking her back and forth. “Shhhhh….shhhhhh…” He whispered his Gaelic prayers to her over and over as he had always done for Claire.

William stood slowly and sat back in the chair by her bed. Claire carefully crawled onto the bed on the other side of Bree. She wrapped her arms around her, her head resting on the top of Bree’s and leaning slightly on Jamie’s.  They held their baby as she moaned and sobbed, until she eventually cried herself to sleep.

When her breathing had slowed and steadied, Jamie carefully disentangled himself and stood. He helped ease her back down until she was lying flat, and Claire adjusted herself, snuggling against her. “I’m going to stay here tonight,” she whispered to Jamie.

He nodded, leaning down to kiss Claire and then place a quiet kiss on Brianna’s forehead. “We’ll have to leave in the morning as long as the lass feels well enough to travel, Claire. I’m afraid we’ve been delayed too much already, and I’m worried that we willna reach Philadelphia before the weather turns worse.” He turned to William. “Go get some sleep, Willie. Ye’ll no get any in that chair, and Claire has Brianna safe now.”

William stood and impulsively put his arms around Jamie, seeking the comfort of his father in his grief. When he pulled away, he simply nodded at Jamie, who clapped his son gently on the shoulder. They left the room quietly, closing the door behind them.

Claire settled into the curve of Brianna’s body, holding her baby as she had on so many nights when she was small. Unable to fight the sleep that was washing over her, she closed her eyes to rest up for the difficult journey ahead.