Chapter Text
It’s an odd feeling, sorting through the artefacts of what used to be my life. A life that somehow feels so distant already that I might as well have been a different person.
Going through all the books I haven’t read in years takes time, because I can’t resist opening each and every one, even if only briefly. The pages bring back memories of thoughts, worlds, and fantastic stories. Some not-so-fantastic stories, too. The books I think I’ll read again, I put in boxes that the removal company will deal with later. The rest will be donated.
I smile when I find a folder containing a collection of wee Jamie’s drawings. Jenny proudly sent them to me years ago, before the arrival of Maggie ensured she was too busy to send me anything in the post. I put the folder into a box along with some of the books I’m keeping.
Then there are the more mundane items that need to be sorted out. Kitchen utensils. Riding gear, most of it very well worn. Clothes I’d forgotten I even own. Various knick-knacks. Lecture notes from university.
How the hell did I manage to fill the house with so many things?
Some of it goes to the Salvation Army. Some gets packed into cardboard boxes, with a rough description of the contents and which room the box should be put in scrawled on the side (at least mostly). Some of it ends up in the rubbish, sorted for recycling.
I work without any real breaks until it’s time for lunch. After dropping Claire off at the hospital this morning, I stopped by the shop on the way home. I wasn’t in the mood to fill the fridge, but I did buy enough to feed us both for today, at least. I fry a couple of eggs, cover them in ketchup, spread butter on some slices of rye bread, and wash it all down with a large glass of milk. That should be enough energy to get me through another four hours of sorting, cleaning, and throwing away things before I need to pick Claire up.
While eating, I unlock my phone. No new messages from Claire. I already knew that, because my phone hasn’t buzzed all morning. But I still need to see it, just to make sure. I know that’s to be expected—her phone is always switched off at work. Still, I’m itching to know what’s going on.
Does Frank know yet? I don’t trust that fucking bastard for a second. I haven’t forgotten how he showed up on my doorstep, drunk, spewing out paranoid bullshit about Claire.
Frank isn’t my only problem right now, though.
My thumb hovers above the text icon, which glows a bright shade of green.
I could just text Laoghaire to tell her that Claire and I are having a baby.
It would be the easy way out, I suppose. I wouldn’t have to interact directly with my ex-wife. It would also give her some time to process the news before she says anything. Perhaps it would be less of a shock that way. If she doesn’t want to reply, for whatever reason, I’m not putting her on the spot. She could just choose to ignore my message. If I call her, or tell her in person, she would have to say something, and she wouldn’t have the opportunity to consider her words.
Texting her would allow her to be angry and hurt in private—if that is what she wants or needs.
Or would texting my ex-wife about something as life-altering as a pregnancy be too callous? Regardless of how I tell her, I don’t think she’ll take it well. She already dislikes Claire, and considering how our divorce went… Losing wee Willie…
Laoghaire’s not over it.
I put my phone down on the table, screen down.
I can’t do it now, anyway. Not yet. If Laoghaire finds out that Claire is pregnant with my child before Frank does, there’s no knowing what she’ll do. God knows she’s more than capable of contacting Frank directly. It would be an absolute disaster if Frank finds out from fucking Laoghaire that Claire is pregnant.
Shit.
I fill the dishwasher and put it on. Then I go back to my seemingly never-ending task of sorting through my old life.
Claire tastes faintly of coffee.
“How was yer day?” I ask her. She looks pale in the waning daylight. It makes the dark rings under her eyes stand out more. She looks tired. But she’s still smiling.
“Good.”
I start the engine and carefully make my way out onto the street. Parking around the Royal Infirmary is a nightmare. I can’t wait to be back at Lallybroch.
“I operated on two fractures today,” she says proudly. “They weren’t particularly complicated fractures, but it’s so good to be back in theatre again.”
I stroke my thumb lightly over the back of her hand.
“That’s excellent, Sassenach. I take it the surgeries went well?”
“Yes. I mean, there’s always the chance of post-op complications, but…” From the corner of my eye, I can see that she grimaces. “Hildegarde still puts me on the easiest surgeries. She probably doesn’t think I’ll notice.”
“Oh, she kens ye’ll notice. But ye have been away for quite a while. Just give it some time, aye?”
She sighs. “I suppose.”
“Did ye get the chance tae speak with Mr Gowan this morning?”
“Yes.” There is a slight pause before she answers. A subtle tension in her voice that wasn’t there before. “I caught him just before my first surgery. He said he’d email Frank’s solicitor straight away.”
“Have ye heard anything from him since then?”
She shakes her head.
“I checked my phone after the end of my shift. Ned Gowan sent me a short email at around ten, confirming that he’d sent it. Nothing since then.”
Her slender fingers play nervously with one of the buttons of her coat. She can’t quite close it around her waist any more. She needs a new one. It’s going to be a long winter, and she needs to stay warm.
I wait.
“I asked Hildegarde to inform hospital security of the situation,” she admits, her voice low. “Just to be safe.”
“Good.” I reach my left hand to her, taking it across the console, holding her nimble fingers still instead of letting them fidget with the button. Her fingers are cold. There is a long silence.
She moves our hands down to her bump, spreading my fingers over it. She laughs nervously.
“Before too long, I won’t be able to get close enough to the table to operate.”
We stop at a red light, and while the car is still, I steal a quick kiss from her.
“I can’t wait.”
“I can’t quite picture it,” she confesses.
“Well, I can,” I smile. When we are apart, it’s sometimes all I can think about. Claire, heavily pregnant with my child.
“Has she kicked today?”
“Yes.” She lights up. “When I did the second fracture repair this morning, she went wild in there. It was actually hard to keep a straight face.”
“Maybe she’ll become a surgeon too, then?”
She laughs.
“She’s not even born yet, and you’re already thinking about her career? I’m mostly thinking about whether she’ll be healthy, and if she’ll have dark or red hair.”
“She’ll have red hair,” I say with absolute conviction. Because of course she will.
Claire huffs. “You’re very certain of yourself there, Jamie. Have you even read up on the genetics of hair colour?”
I stroke her belly slowly, hoping our little girl will kick in response. She doesn’t.
“I dinna have tae,” I grin.
When we come home, I ask Claire if she wants to lie down while I make dinner. She still looks tired, and in the car she mentioned that her feet were swollen.
“Maybe I should,” she says, biting her lip.
Not even ten minutes later, I find her asleep on the sofa, with her phone lying on the floor near her hand. It doesn’t look like we will create any new memories of her bent over the kitchen counter today—but I suppose there’s always tomorrow. I cover her with a wool blanket, kiss the top of her head carefully, and go back to my cooking.
When dinner is finished half an hour later, I wake her with a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“Dinner’s ready, Sassenach.”
She blinks, looking bewildered up at me.
“Dinner? What time is it?” She yawns.
“A quarter past six.”
She sits up, rubbing her eyes. “I must have gone out like a light.”
“Somethin’ like that.”
She stretches. She does look quite lovely when she does that. Then she sniffs.
“It smells lovely. What have you made?”
“Homemade tomato soup,” I inform her. “Lots of vitamins and antioxidants. It’s good for ye both.”
Her smile widens. “I knew there was a reason I keep you around.”
I can’t help but steal a kiss from her. “Ye only have that one reason?”
“Well…” She smiles like the cat that got the cream. I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks. Blood is flowing elsewhere, too. How can she do this to me, with just a word and a look that isn’t even really suggestive? I need to get us both away from that sofa. If we don’t, the soup will be cold before we get around to eating it. Besides, she does need the nutrients.
I take her hand and drag her up. Her fingers thread through mine.
“Let’s eat.”
She doesn’t object, which suggests that she’s hungry. The speed with which she finishes her first portion of tomato soup—with two hard-boiled eggs, a spoonful of sour cream, and a healthy helping of garlic bread on the side—confirms my suspicion. Only after she’s well into her second helping does she take the time to speak.
“You didn’t wake me up this morning.”
I reach out for another piece of garlic bread. “I seem tae recall that I did?”
She raises an eyebrow, a smile playing on her lips.
“You said you’d wake me up early and fuck me over the kitchen counter before work.”
Something about her voice—a dark tinge—startles me enough that I burn my tongue on the soup. I start coughing, and her smile widens.
“I was sorely tempted,” I admit, when I finally regain the use of my voice. I hold her eyes. Her pupils are so big her eyes look almost entirely black.
“But?” she asks.
I bet she’s wet.
“But in the end, I decided that ye needed yer rest.”
The little minx cocks her head to the side, raising an eyebrow. “I was rather looking forward to getting woken up early by you.”
“Weell…” I touch my foot to hers underneath the table, running my toes up her long, slender calf. “Ye’re pregnant, ye’re working full-time…” I don’t want to mention the incredibly stressful situation she’s in, what with her bastard of an ex-husband. Frank is really the last thing I want to talk about right now. “Ye just looked like ye needed sleep more than ye needed sex,” I finish, somewhat lamely.
Instead of waking her up, I just held her close in the darkness of the guest room, feeling her slow, steady breathing against my chest.
She bites her lower lip, looking up at me through her eyelashes.
“Is there any chance I can convince you that I’m not in immediate need of sleep after dinner?”
Her voice is dark and husky. Underneath the table, I gently nudge her knee to one side with my foot, parting her thighs, and she can’t hold back a gasp. My grin widens.
“Maybe.”
Even through the smell of tomatoes and garlic that permeates the room, I can detect a hint of that scent that is distinctly hers, released when her thighs open.
Oh, she’s wet, all right.
Before long, I’m grinding my hips against the lush curve of her arse, working us both towards completion over the kitchen counter.
It doesn’t last long. I’d be killing her back if it did. She can’t really bend over the kitchen counter any more, what with her belly being in the way. She’s just resting her elbows and her forehead against it, which doesn’t provide her body with much support. Short, breathy moans escape her throat with every thrust.
I grit my teeth, barely managing to reach around to slide my fingers roughly over her clit in an effort to push her over the edge as quickly as possible.
Thankfully, she’s almost there already. When she comes, with a long, drawn-out moan, I follow her almost immediately. I come so hard it feels as if I almost lose consciousness for a second—like the only thing keeping me standing is holding on to her.
I stay there, still inside her, for a little while. A thin sheen of sweat covers the skin of her back—what I can see from where her shirt is partly pushed up, anyway. I didn’t even take the time to get access to her wonderfully swollen breasts. I need to get her fully naked next time.
I run my palms gently over her back, and I can hear her exhale softly. Then I slide my left hand down to cover her belly.
It’s rock hard.
I freeze. Feeling lightheaded, I quickly withdraw from her. Claire lifts her head and looks back at me, a look of confusion on her flushed, post-coital face.
“What’s wrong?”
She stands up, a slight frown on her face as she stretches, a hand at the small of her back.
My mouth is dry.
“Ye… Are ye hurting?”
She grimaces. “I don’t think my back can keep doing this for much longer, to be honest. We might have to resort to just fucking in bed from now on.” Her voice is apologetic.
I stare at her in confusion.
“Yer back? But…”
She is still massaging the small of her back, which causes her bump to jut out even more than usual. She’s quite a sight—messy hair, wearing nothing on her lower body except the knickers still bunched around her ankles. Her button-down shirt is pushed up above her belly, just barely covering her swollen breasts. Everything in between is miles and miles of soft, pale skin. I can smell myself on her.
“But what?”
“Yer belly… it’s…”
“What?” She looks down, confused, touches it, then smiles. “Oh.”
“Did I hurt ye? It’s not…” I can’t make myself say the word contractions out loud. Laoghaire was at around this stage of the pregnancy when little Willie was born, and…
She grabs my hand, placing it on her belly. It’s still hard. She doesn’t appear to be in pain, though.
“It’s just Braxton Hicks contractions. It often happens after sex. It’s completely normal.”
“Really?” I breathe.
“Really,” she repeats.
“It doesna hurt?”
She shakes her head. “It does feel… odd, though.” Her hand is still covering mine. “It’s amazing that smooth muscle can be this strong, don’t you think?”
“Aye.”
I don’t quite share her fascination with everything medical, and I just barely understand what she’s talking about. But I am, on a general basis, very fascinated by her body.
“I will have to push this ‘lass’ of yours out one day using those smooth muscles, though.” She furrows her brow. “I haven’t really thought too much about that before now.”
“Is now a bad time to tell you that I weighed nearly eleven pounds when I was born?”
Her eyes widen.
“Yes, it is! Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, Jamie!” She looks a little pale. “Your poor mother!”
“Sorry.” Maybe I shouldn’t have told her that. “Maybe she willna inherit too many of my genes,” I try.
She snorts.
“I bet she’ll look just like you,” she protests. “She’ll be all Fraser. Red hair, utterly charming and—apparently—huge.”
“She could have red hair, be utterly charming, and still be tiny,” I protest.
“Red hair and eleven bloody pounds!”
She looks genuinely distraught.
“Well, it’s too late tae turn back now, Sassenach,” I say gently, but that doesn’t seem to help in the slightest. Her face contracts. “Perhaps we can get a midwife appointment and discuss the birth?” I ask, trying to be helpful. “It might help ye calm down.”
“Calm down?”
Shit.
“I didna mean it like that,” I quickly add. “It’s just that… all of this was quite sudden. The pregnancy, and…” I brush a stray strand of unruly dark hair behind her ear. “With everything that has happened lately, ye havena had time tae mentally prepare for birth at all yet. Perhaps talking tae a midwife will help? We could go there together,” I offer.
God knows my own experiences from the labour and delivery ward are not positive ones. I’m probably more in need of therapy and reassuring words from a midwife than she is.
She looks up at me, her face still pale.
“Maybe,” she mutters.
“Good. Then that’s settled,” I say hopefully.
It’s not, though.
“Eleven pounds?”
Fuck. Why did I open my big, fat mouth?
“You do know that birth weight is partly determined by the genetics of the father?” she says, and she has that ‘doctor’ look on her face that I don’t see all that often, but have already learned means trouble.
Fuck.
“Aye.” Well, not really. But this seems like a good time to lie. “Birth weight is also determined by a number of other factors, I’m sure.”
I don’t really know what the determinants of a baby’s birth weight are, aside from the obvious fact that the length of the pregnancy is important. Unfortunately, Claire probably knows all of them.
“Yes, but…”
I pull her closer to me, mostly to distract her. I’m not in the mood for a lecture on birth weight. We can’t be quite as close as we used to, because her belly is in the way, but it’s still enough. She’s so warm and soft in my arms. I swear she feels warmer than she used to before she got pregnant.
“Sassenach…” I kiss her lightly on the lips. “Will ye try not tae be a doctor just this once, and leave this tae the professionals?”
“But…”
I shake my head. “Right now our wee lass is very wee, right?” My hand sneaks down to her belly—distinctly rounded, but still small.
“Yes,” she reluctantly agrees.
“And we can have ultrasounds later on tae estimate her weight. Aye?”
“Yes. But…”
“No.” I silence her with a finger on her lips. “No buts. Dinna fash. We’ll talk tae a midwife. And that’s what hospitals are for, aren’t they? This isna the eighteenth century. If something doesna look good, if the baby is very large or if labour doesna seem tae go the way it should, they’ll do a C-section.”
That doesn’t appear to calm her in the slightest.
“That’s major abdominal surgery! The risks…”
I kiss her forehead.
“It will be fine, Sassenach.”
I pull her closer to me, as close as I possibly can. She puts her arms around my waist, her fingernails digging into the muscles of my back. Her body is tense.
“I think talking tae a midwife will do us both some good,” I mutter into her hair. “I have things I need tae work through because of Willie, and ye…” I pause, trying to find a good way of saying it. “…ye may have read a bit too much in yer medical textbooks?”
“I may have,” she admits against my chest. “I found my old obstetrics textbook, and…”
I kiss her again.
“Ye’re not a doctor when it comes tae this,” I tell her gently. “Ye’re the patient. The mother,” I correct myself. It feels both strange and wonderful to say that word out loud.
“It’s just hard to give up control,” she mutters.
“From what I’ve observed, giving up control appears tae be an integral part of parenthood.”
Her shoulders start shaking, but thankfully it’s from laughter.
“I suppose you’re right.”
She rests her chin on my sternum, looking up at me. The look of panic in her large blue eyes seems to have mostly subsided.
I kiss her again.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
We just stand like this, holding each other close, until I feel her breathing calm down and her body relax.
“Let’s take a shower together?” I suggest. “We should clean up.” I glance down between us and smile knowingly. She rolls her eyes, but smiles back.
“Alright.”
I think we’re both too tired for a round two, but because I didn’t have time to give them any attention earlier, I do take the opportunity to ensure her breasts are extra clean. I lather them with soap—she brought her own soap, which smells of some kind of wild herbs. The scent is dizzying, especially combined with the proximity of her body and the heat of the small, confined room.
“Like what you see, Jamie?” She laughs, a dark, throaty sound, and I look up from her breasts to meet her amused eyes.
“Aye.” I bend down, and my tongue slips over her left nipple. It’s bigger and darker than it used to be. “Verra much.”
She makes a sound that is somewhere between a sigh and a moan.
“Can you wash my hair for me, please?”
Somewhat reluctantly I get up and reach for her shampoo. I pour a generous amount into my palm and start to lather up. The warm water washes over both of us, and I lean closer to her. My cock is hard against her wonderfully curved arse. I simply can’t help it.
She reaches behind her, and her fingers close around my shaft.
It appears as though she’s not that tired after all.
The next morning, I drive Claire to work. We only have one car between us here in Edinburgh, and I need it during the day. And with the situation with Frank being what it is, I don’t want her to take public transport alone right now.
Yes, I know I may be paranoid.
It’s still not quite light outside. We don’t talk much. I mostly focus on the road. I really hate rush traffic in Edinburgh. Claire looks pale and drawn, almost like she did back when she was in her first trimester—without realising that was what was actually happening to her, of course. She rests her forehead against the window, looking out at the eternal Edinburgh rain with a distant look in her eyes.
Her phone beeps, and she digs through her purse. From the corner of my eye, I see her frown, then quickly unlock her phone.
She swipes. Reads. Bites her lip.
“What is it, Sassenach?”
“It’s an email from Ned Gowan.”
“Now? It’s not even 7 AM. Doesn’t the man ever sleep?”
“Maybe he wakes up early?” she suggests. “Lots of elderly people do.”
Her voice trembles just a little bit.
“What did he write?” I ask, a bit more gruffly than I intended. I’m already on edge with everything that’s going on. Perhaps not surprisingly, I didn’t get enough sleep last night either.
She hesitates, then looks back at her phone.
“According to his solicitor, Frank was informed of the pregnancy and the result of the paternity test yesterday afternoon.”
She puts the phone back into her purse.
My palms are sweaty, but I still feel surprisingly calm.
“So, the cat is officially out of the bag, then.”
“Yes.” She takes a deep, shaking breath. “How do you think Frank reacted?”
I hesitate, quietly observing her. She’s chewing on her lower lip, and her fists are clenched. Fuck, that bastard is still getting to her.
“Weell, I suppose he isna happy about it,” I say slowly.
“Or perhaps he doesn’t care what I do anymore?” she suggests. “He could just be relieved I won’t go after him for child support. For all we know, Frank and Sandy could be too busy picking out colours for the living room to worry about me.”
Colours for what used to be her living room.
“Perhaps.”
We both know that’s probably not the case.
The silence hangs heavy in the air. I don’t know what to say. The truth is I’m just as worried as she is.
She sighs. “At least I can tell everyone at work about the pregnancy today. It’s about time.”
“Aye, it is.” We have stopped at a red light, and I take the opportunity to meet her large, worried eyes, smiling what I hope is a reassuring smile. Then I look down at her rounded midsection, and my smile widens. “It really is about time, Sassenach.”
God, she looks beautiful.
She returns my smile, and I start to lean over to kiss her. But then we get a green light, and with a sigh, I have to turn my attention back to the road.
Am I just being paranoid? I don’t think Frank will be happy about this pregnancy, not one bit. But could the shock really provoke him into doing something… reckless? My knuckles are white as I clutch the steering wheel. Now Claire is the one staring at me, and unlike me, she’s not trying to hide it.
“Everything will be alright, Jamie,” she says. She sounds quite convincing, but I don’t know if she believes her own words. “Maybe not right away, but… eventually, it will.”
I put my hand on her thigh, squeezing it reassuringly.
“Aye.” I slow down again for yet another red light. “I can’t wait to go home, though.”
We both know I’m not talking about going back to my house after dropping her off.
“I know. Me neither.” She chuckles. “It’s odd, isn’t it?”
“What is?” I ask, not understanding what she means.
“I mean, it makes sense for you, because you grew up in Lallybroch. But I’ve spent… how many nights there? A week? Two, at most? And still…” She shrugs. “I don’t know. It feels like home already.”
We kiss goodbye in front of the Royal Infirmary employee entrance. I don’t care if anyone sees us now, and neither, apparently, does Claire.
“Be careful,” I murmur into her ear, and then she disappears into the rain. I watch her half run towards the door. Just before she opens it, she turns around, waves, and smiles at me.
Claire isn’t the only one who has an unpleasant ex waiting for her in Edinburgh.
I decide to stop at a small baker’s on the way. It’s still early, and I need to kill some time before I go to Helwater. I read the news on my phone while I have a few scones and a large cup of coffee. I feel the caffeine slowly seep into my system, but the knot in my stomach is still there.
I’ve tried to figure out how to break the news to Laoghaire. I haven’t managed to decide what to say. The only thing I know is that I need to tell her in person.
I woke up very early this morning—long before Claire. I watched her sleep until her alarm went off. She lay on her side. The cover had slipped down, revealing her belly. And that’s when I knew. Willie died at around this stage of Laoghaire’s—our—pregnancy. If anything happened to Claire or the baby now, I’d…
I take a big sip of coffee.
Even with everything that came after—and also partly before—Willie died, I still owe it to Laoghaire to tell her in person. Even if this is the last time I ever speak to her.
My usual parking spot at Helwater is taken. I don’t recognise the car. Either it belongs to a new employee, or someone has bought themselves a new shiny Tesla. I decide to park in one of the guest parking spaces instead. That is, after all, exactly what I am now.
Mornings are always busy at Helwater. Feeding, taking horses out into the paddocks, preparing for planned vet visits, trainers exercising horses, owners coming by… I arrive in the middle of all of that.
“Jamie!” Geordie’s surprised voice makes everyone pause, and before I know it, I’m surrounded by a small group of trainers and grooms.
“Seems like life as a stable owner suits ye,” Kenny says, smiling broadly. “Ye’re lookin’ good.”
“Well, it’s certainly an adjustment.” I shrug. “Doin’ accounting at the weekends, owners calling at all hours, not tae mention endless painting in what I suppose passes for my spare time…” I grin. “I love it. I’ve bought several horses. Ye’ve heard of Donas? He’s mine now.”
I pull up a couple of photos of Donas on my phone.
“He’s a beauty,” Geordie says appreciatively.
“A bit wild, no?” Robin adds.
Apparently Donas’s reputation precedes him. I nod.
“Aye, he needs time. He doesna trust people easily. But we’ll get there. And I hope tae get some really nice foals from him next spring.”
“So what are ye doin’ in Edinburgh?” Robin asks
“Cleaning out my house. It sold a few weeks ago.”
“Congratulations!”
He shares a quick look with Geordie. My heart sinks.
“We… er. We heard something about ye.” There’s an odd tone in Robin’s voice.
I raise an eyebrow, trying to appear calm despite my pulse racing.
“Ye did?” I ask dryly.
“We heard that… ye’re together with Claire?” Kenny says hesitantly.
Of course. Horse people are notorious gossips, and it’s not that far from Lallybroch to Edinburgh, after all. Did the news originate from Ronnie? Or from someone else? I suppose I’ll never know.
But if they know… then Laoghaire knows too.
And if they know that Claire and I are together… that might not be the only thing they’ve heard about us.
“I am.” I shrug, but I can’t help but smile. I can say it out loud now. Despite everything, I can tell the world that Claire is my girlfriend. Not only that, we’re living together. “We’ve been together for a while. She’s moving tae Lallybroch.” My smile widens.
“That’s fantastic!” Geordie says, and he sounds genuinely pleased.
“About time,” Robin adds with a knowing smile. “Ye’ve been dancing around each other for years.”
“Aye,” Kenny laughs. “All those long rides…”
I feel a blush creeping up over my face and mutter something unintelligible. Were we really that transparent?
“I’m glad she’s moving on from that arsehole of a husband,” Robin says. “Do ye think he’ll lose his job at the university? Fake travel expenses, buying hoors…”
I shrug. “I dinna ken. And I dinna care, as long as that bastard stays far away from Claire and me.”
Robin and Geordie share another look. Fuck. Geordie opens his mouth to say something, and before he has the chance to, I quickly ask:
“Is Laoghaire here today? I need tae talk tae her.”
“Right.” Geordie straightens his back, suddenly looking serious. “Aye, she is. She’s probably in her office. Should I call her and…?”
I walk briskly towards the main building, a sinking feeling in my stomach. Laoghaire’s probably in her office at this time of day, and hopefully I’ll be able to catch her alone. Thankfully, I don’t meet anyone else along the way. I can’t stand the thought of more small talk with curious people who apparently know more about my private life than I’d like right now.
I hesitate before knocking on Laoghaire’s door, taking a few deep breaths first. The mahogany is old and solid under my knuckles—like everything at Helwater.
“Come in.” Laoghaire’s voice is muffled behind the thick door.
I open the door.
Fucking hell.
Laoghaire is sitting behind her desk, and just behind her, leaning over to look at something on her laptop, is none other than Geneva Dunsany.
Geneva’s eyes widen when she sees me, and Laoghaire makes a strangled sound. Her face turns a pasty shade of pale as she stares at me—wordless, except for two angry red spots beginning to bloom on her cheekbones.
Geneva recovers first.
“Jamie!” she exclaims, with a smile that doesn’t look the least bit convincing. “How… wonderful to see you.” The pause before “wonderful” is slight—Geneva is well-bred, after all—but it’s there.
The silence hangs thick and heavy in the air.
Laoghaire doesn’t say a word; she just glares at me. Geneva fidgets, sending a furtive glance her way.
“I can come back later,” I say at last, my voice not quite steady. I swallow before continuing. “Ye’re obviously busy.”
“No, we were finished,” Geneva says quickly. She’s a terrible liar. Her gaze flicks nervously between Laoghaire and me.
Yep. Geneva knows too.
“Laoghaire, are you—” Her voice falters.
“We can finish this later,” Laoghaire says.
“Right. I’ll… uhm…”
I suppose not even Geneva’s boarding school training prepared her for this tangled web of ill-advised sexual liaisons. A blush creeps into her cheeks, and with a few polite phrases that neither I nor— I suspect—Laoghaire truly hear, she makes her escape.
With the solid mahogany door firmly closed, Laoghaire and I are finally alone. She shuts her laptop; the sharp click cuts through the room like glass.
“Laoghaire, I—”
“Dinna bother,” she hisses. “I already ken about ye and Claire.”
She doesn’t invite me to sit, so I remain standing. I tower over her as she stays seated behind her massive antique desk. The skin of her face is tight, making her look almost like a porcelain doll.
“It wasna a surprise,” Laoghaire continues. “Claire’s been chasing after ye for years. Ever since she moved her horse here. Anyone with eyes could see it.”
“Claire was married. She wasna ‘chasing’ me in any way.”
Laoghaire snorts.
“Do ye really believe that?”
If anything, I was the one lusting after Claire, even though I tried to hide it. But that’s not something I’m willing to tell Laoghaire.
“Aye. We were friends. Nothing more. She was marrit.”
Laoghaire smiles sweetly.
“Marriage vows clearly dinna mean that much tae her, now do they?”
I clench my jaw.
“Nothing happened between Claire and me until long after our divorce, Laoghaire. And as all of Edinburgh kens by now, Claire’s husband was the one cheating on her, not the other way around.”
She finally gets up from her chair and approaches me.
Laoghaire’s small. Tiny, in fact. She couldn’t possibly hurt me. But her shoulders are tense, and there’s an odd look in her eyes. I take a small step back without thinking.
“Do ye really expect me tae believe that?” There’s venom in her voice.
“I dinna care what ye believe,” I say slowly. “But it is the truth.”
“Claire’s a shameless slut,” she spits. “Just like her ex-husband, apparently.” Her voice is starting to rise, almost imperceptibly.
Under normal circumstances, there’s no way I’d allow her to speak about Claire like this. But nothing about this is normal.
I swallow. I’ve seen her like this before—when everything between us broke down, after Willie died. I know just how deeply her words can cut, just how angry she can get.
I’m starting to regret ever coming here, but it’s too late to turn back now. I need to get this over with. I don’t want to spend any more time in Laoghaire’s presence than I have to.
I take a deep breath.
“Claire and I are pregnant.”
For a split second, it’s as if Laoghaire crumbles. Her eyes widen in shock, and a gasp escapes her throat.
So she didn’t know about the pregnancy, then. Based on the reactions from the people I met outside, I’m somewhat surprised. Maybe I misread their looks. Or maybe they do know—but the rumours somehow never reached Laoghaire. I don’t know. But it’s clear from her reaction that she had absolutely no idea.
“Ye…” She appears completely at a loss for words, for once.
“I wanted tae tell ye in person. For… obvious reasons.”
Her arms come up to wrap around her waist. I don’t know if she’s doing it intentionally.
“When…” She clears her throat. “When is she due?”
There’s something odd in her voice—an almost metallic edge. She isn’t looking at me. Her gaze is fixed on a point just above my shoulder, distant and unfocused.
“March,” I answer, without thinking.
Her head snaps up.
“March?” Her nostrils flare, and as I meet her eyes, I can practically see her doing the calculations. It doesn’t take her long to reach the obvious conclusion. “That means… she was still married tae Dr Randall when the bastard was conceived!”
Under any other circumstances, I’d call her out on her choice of words. But right now, it seems best not to escalate. I cross my arms over my chest and look down at her. Her pupils are so dilated her eyes look almost entirely black.
“How do ye ken the bairn is even yers?” she spits. “How can ye trust the word of that adulterous bitch?”
I have to inhale and exhale slowly a couple of times to regain control of my temper before I answer.
“It’s mine.” My voice is still louder than I’d like. “I’m sure.” I’m definitely not going into the paternity testing issues with Laoghaire. “And if ye ever speak of Claire that way again—”
Laoghaire ignores me.
“And Dr Randall? Does he ken?”
“Aye.”
“And what does he have tae say about it?”
I shrug. “I dinna care what that fecking bastard says, one way or another.”
She takes a step towards me, closing the distance between us. I hadn’t even realised we were standing so close. She puts her hand on my upper arm, and I freeze.
“Jamie…”
I can feel her hand burn, even through two layers of clothing. I take a small step back, but she follows.
“Ye canna believe her. After everything we went through with Willie…”
Hearing his name, spoken in her voice, is almost physically painful.
“Laoghaire…”
“Does she ken? About Willie?”
“Aye.”
Her grip on my upper arm tightens.
“Claire’s using ye—can’t ye see? She’s been after ye since the first time she saw ye. I could tell immediately.”
She sways closer. Her face is deathly pale, and there’s an almost wild look in her unblinking eyes.
“I ken ye’ve disliked Claire since the first time she set foot here at Helwater, but there was really no need tae. She was marrit. We were friends. Now, however…” I pause, my hand closing around her wrist—her fingers are digging painfully into my arm. “She’s separated, we’re living together, and she’s pregnant with my bairn.”
I remove her hand, then immediately release my grip. Her arm falls passively to her side, as if all the strength has drained from it. Her face tightens; her eyes narrow.
I’ve seen that look before. Too many times. Yet the venom in her voice still surprises me when she spits:
“How could ye do such a thing tae me, Jamie Fraser?”
I furrow my brow.
“Tae ye?”
She moves so quickly that I barely register what’s happening before she shoves both hands against my chest. She’s much smaller than me—she can’t realistically hurt me—but she’s still surprisingly strong, and I nearly lose my balance, mostly because I’m completely unprepared.
I stumble back a few steps before regaining my footing. She follows me.
“Yes, tae me!” she says, her voice rising with every word. “I was in so much pain after we lost Willie, and I kent that ye were, too. I thought that if we just gave it time… ye’d come back tae me. I saw how that marrit bitch went after ye, but I ken that ye detest adultery—because ye’re a good and decent man, Jamie. So deep down, I believed ye wouldn’t give in tae temptation. That if I just waited, ye’d come back tae me.”
I can barely believe my own ears.
“Laoghaire, whatever we had, it’s a long time ago. It’s over. It was over long before we even got divorced.”
“No.” She shakes her head.
“Aye, Laoghaire. Remember how much we fought?” I ask, exasperated. “Remember all the hurtful things we said tae each other?”
“Maybe it wasna perfect,” she says, “but ye were mine. And ye still are.”
I take another step backwards and finally find myself within arm’s reach of the door. I grasp the handle and pull it open. The hallway outside is empty. I had half expected Geneva to be lingering, listening—but I suppose she’s too polite for that. Perhaps she’s slipped into one of the neighbouring rooms.
“No, I’m not,” I say, and my voice comes out rougher than I intend. “I wanted tae tell ye in person that Claire and I are having a wee lass, that’s all. I felt I owed ye that, because I kent ye loved Willie—and how much losing him hurt ye.” I swallow. “I didna want ye to hear it from anyone else. But that’s all, Laoghaire. Now that ye ken the truth, I dinna owe ye anything more.”
Her face pales.
“A lass…” she whispers.
I clench my jaw. “Aye. A lass.”
Laoghaire stands completely still, her eyes glassy. For a split second, I think this is it—that she’s finally seen reason.
Then she starts screaming at the top of her lungs.
The sound hits like a blow to the chest. For a moment, I’m back there—grief, anger, my life breaking apart—and I have to force myself to move.
I retreat quickly down the hallway—I’ve had more than enough. But she follows, screaming obscenities and hurling whatever she can get her hands on. A vase filled with flowers crashes against the wall not far from my head.
It’s hardly discreet. Everyone at Helwater will be gossiping about this for weeks. Who will be the villain in their tale—me or Laoghaire? I’m no longer certain I care.
I walk briskly towards my car. My hands aren’t quite steady as I unlock it. I’m fully prepared to use force if I have to, should she try to get in with me. Thankfully, she doesn’t.
She screams something at me as I climb into the car, but I can’t even make out the words.
“Goodbye, Laoghaire,” I say, though I don’t know if she hears it. I slam the door shut a little harder than necessary and pull away.
I catch a glimpse of her in the mirror as I drive down the road—a small, frantic figure. It looks like she’s still screaming, but thankfully, I can’t hear her anymore.
My grip tightens on the steering wheel until my knuckles ache.
I turn the radio up, the volume high enough to drown out even my own thoughts.