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geethedentist · 5 years

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The Sassenach Warrior

Catch up on Chapter 5 here!

Chapter 6: The Wonders of Whisky

Rising from the chair, I froze halfway trying to decide if I should go after Jamie. Dougal had suddenly became aware of my presence once again, as if coming down from an intoxicated state. I suppose he was.

He smiled. It was not a nice smile.

“You look very pleased with yourself.”

“Pleased? Ye should come back and see me when Scotland and the Bonny Prince are victorious.”

I crossed my arms. “Forgive me, but hasn’t there already been two failed Jacobite risings?”

That remark dampened his euphoria. “Watch it lass, I expect ye to remain civil. Ye’re only here because I still dinna ken what yer game is. Ye ken nothing of those risings and what Scotland has been through.”

“I am being perfectly fucking civil. You on the other hand, are a complete barbarian. I take it that Jamie is only here to be used as a prop?” I gestured toward the door through which Jamie had just left.

He let out a long breath. “Please try to understand. ’Tis nothing against the lad. He just happens to be the owner of a verra strong example of English brutality and ruthlessness. He swore loyalty.”

“He did no such thing and you know it. I was frankly shocked he sat there for the past hour and let you do that. Good night.” Before he could say anything else I swept up my half-full mug of ale and my meat pie and stomped up the stairs.

I awoke an hour or two later in a sweat and a coating of pie crumbs. Sighing, I draped my arm over my face. The dream was quite unsettling. Dougal was the one flogging Jamie and once again, I was sitting there watching with a mug of ale. Jamie had looked pleadingly into my eyes. The dreams were worsening since I had been taken by the Scots, but they had started when Uncle Lamb died. I let out a shaky breath and climbed out of bed.

There was a figure in the back alley of the tavern below. My stomach flipped when I realized it was Jamie. His familiar form was hunched over as he sat on a wooden bench. His knuckles were a mess of blood, though he made no move to staunch the flow. It was rhythmically dripping onto the ground in front of him. It ran between the cracks in the stone. I tore myself away from the window and tried, unsuccessfully, to go back to sleep.

The next morning my head felt heavy; it hovered dangerously close to my bowl of porridge. What should have been the most sound sleep I’ve had in weeks was punctuated by horrible dreams of varying content, guilt for some reason, and other feelings I did not care to identify. I blinked heavily and parted my jaws in an enormous yawn.

“Ye look like ye’ve been up all night,” Murtagh commented.

“I suppose I had gotten used to sleeping on the ground.” I answered. Then I swung my head to look around the room. “Where is Jamie?”

“Why?” Angus interjected, a large annoying smirk on his face.

As much as I wanted to hit him, displaying hostility would only encourage it. I tried for nonchalance. “I just noticed that he isn’t here. That’s all.” I added a shrug for good measure.

“The lad woke up hours ago, he’s spendin’ the day in the stables if I’m not mistaken.” Murtagh answered me, ignoring Angus. So Jamie wished to be left alone.

That evening saw us all in the taproom once again. I had just finished supper when I noticed with dread that the tavern was much more crowded than it had been the previous night. Dougal was drawing a larger audience then, and word was spreading. Jamie was led in by his uncle. I imagined that the days he was flogged looked quite similar to this.

Dougal then began the exact speech from the previous night, and hearing it a second time made it far less impressive and far less passionate. I wanted to spare myself the sight of Jamie’s anguish by spending the night in my room. But tonight, I was going to make sure he was okay.

We had not spoken in two days.

It took longer for the taproom to clear out this time. A young man with light brown hair was the last to drop his coin in. His cheeks were ruddy and covered in dense patches of freckles. Dougal bowed to him. “Alba a ’toirt taing.”

A confused expression momentarily crossed his face before he nodded and made his way to the front door. He passed the armchair in which I was sitting.

“Save your money.” I said to him.

He stopped. “He’s going to save Scotland.” I almost felt sorry for the innocent, deluded look in his eyes.

“He thinks he’s going to save Scotland.” I said, putting my legs up on the table.

“Well, what’s he going to do with all that money?” He demanded.

I sighed. “What’s your name?”

“Peter, Miss.” He hadn’t commented on my attire, but I could feel him staring at it.

“Peter. What you just saw was a carefully rehearsed ploy in which that man exploited his nephew for money. Sure Dougal cares about Scotland and I imagine that he’s going to attempt to use that money to raise an army against England. But if you ask me, he’s a child in a grown man’s body. A couple pence is not going to help. Feed your family instead.”

His eyebrows knit together. “I shall keep that in mind, Miss. You’re quite the cynic aren’t you?”

I smiled insincerely. “Being a pessimist is wonderful. I am either always right or pleasantly surprised. Have a good evening sir.”

After he had gone I dimly realized that he wore no tartan and spoke no Gaelic. My thoughts were interrupted by the sight of Jamie attempting to shrug back into his destroyed shirt. Tonight was different than last night. He was not angry. He was defeated. The floor above us creaked as Dougal entered his room after having counted the night’s earnings.

I put my hand on his shoulder. “Can I help?”

He did not say anything, but nodded once. Permission granted, I took the two tattered ends of the shirt and tied them in a knot at his back. The scars shone in the candlelight.

“At least now it won’t fall off.” I whispered.

He still said nothing, and I realized that he was holding his breath.

“I have - I have no idea how to sew.” I said stupidly and unnecessarily into his silence.

His fingers drummed on the counter, I saw fresh scabs. His head turned slowly towards me. He gave the most infinitesimal smile, but it was the most I’ve seen in days. “I didna think ye would, Sassenach.”

My breath came out in a laugh, and he continued. “Maybe I’ll teach ye one day.”

I was still laughing, more out of some unexplained relief than from what he said. “No thank you!”

He pretended to be taken aback. “No thank you? All Scottish boys are taught to sew and knit ye ken.”

The barman approached and placed a glass of amber liquid in front of Jamie. I sat up straighter. “What is that?”

He picked up the glass and swirled it around. The way the liquid caught the light was pleasing to look at, and just watching it made me feel warm. He took a sip and savored it before answering me. “It’s whisky, Sassenach. Ye’ve never had?” I could tell by the gleam in his eye that he was hoping I would say no. I shook my head, still staring at the glass.

“Then I am honored to be the first that ye shall drink it with.” He waved the barman over and had him pour me a glass. “Leave the bottle, if ye please.” Jamie told him before he went into the kitchen.

I held my own glass at eye level right in front of my face. He was intently watching me inspect my whisky. I sniffed it, and the scent was complex. It smelled like Scotland. After the first swallow, there was a small fire burning merrily in my belly, a warm trail down my throat, and several unidentifiable flavors commingling on my tongue. It was magnificent.

Half an hour later, the bottle was almost empty, and the small fire had become a raging blaze. We had spent that time laughing hysterically and having a belching contest. I hadn’t realized how badly I needed to get drunk, and I said as much as I reached to pour some more.

Jamie’s eyes widened. They were becoming a bit glassy and bloodshot. “Sassenach I fear ye may be drinkin’ me under the table and I am ashamed.”

I snorted. “Please, I could drink any one of you under this whole tavern.”

That sent him into a small fit of laughter. “Would ye like to test yer theory on the lads, then?”

My reply came without thinking. “Actually, no. I find I can only handle them in small doses. I’m quite enjoying this sad little drinking party and all two of its current members.”

He smiled. “Me too.” After a short pause, he tentatively reached out his hand. “Ye have something in your hair.” His speech slurred faintly. “Um. Do ye want me to get it out?”

I shrugged. “If you think it will help my tangled mess look more presentable.”

Permission granted, his hand continued reverently up to the top of my head.

“Coltach ris an uisge ann an allt, mo nighean donn.”

He carefully extracted some piece of lint, and lowered his eyes to my face. I watched as he switched his gaze between me and the glass of whisky I had suspended near my lips. Suddenly, Jamie MacTavish abruptly reminded me why I had not spoken to him for two days.

“It looks just like yer eyes …” He breathed.

I lowered the cup with a sharp exhale. He was beet red, and that’s when I realized he was in over his head. It didn’t matter now if I ignored him completely. He would still be torn apart when I left no matter what. I silently cursed myself for not leaving sooner.

Being in the company of these Scots was the longest I had been in anyone’s company since I lived with my uncle. Before this, I had never had time to forge any kind of profound connection. I had kept interactions and acquaintances short and unattached. It was safer for me that way.

Jamie sat there sweating now, and gazing at me expectantly clearly hoping that his fuck up would reward him. I shuddered to think what sorts of sober thoughts would make it out of my drunken mouth.

Instinct took over and an irrational urge to make him angry at me manifested itself. If I had known all that was going to unfold after, I would have gone to bed right then and there. I suppose I thought that angering him on purpose would make it easier for him when I was gone. If he hated me, he’d be glad to see me go.

I attempted to look him straight in the eye, although at this point my vision was beginning to spin slightly. “Why do you let Dougal do that to you?”

He stiffened. “I could ask you the same.” He said lowly.

I clenched my teeth together. “It isn’t the same and you know it. He’ll put your back on display every night!”

“Not the same?” He chuckled humorlessly. “Dougal is controlling and manipulating both of us.”

“Excuse me but nobody can control me.” It sounded ridiculous and delusional on its way out of my mouth. “You on the other hand, can take your body back anytime you like!”

“Then ye prove ye ken nothing of clan politics!” He half shouted back at me. “As for you, ye can leave anytime ye like as well. Ye can leave and keep running, I ken how badly ye want to.” His burr was growing quite broad, almost to the point where I had to strain to understand him.

“I can’t.” I whispered. “You’ve got me all figured out don’t you?”

“And I canna leave either.” He suddenly had the same vulnerable and tortured expression as the say he showed me his back.

“But the scars … He’ll bring you a constant reminder each night if he keeps this up. I know you hate the pity it brings down upon you.” I suppose I had been trying to get him to oppose his uncle because I was powerless to do it for myself. Perhaps I enjoyed the fact that I was only one who had seen them.

“The scars are there and they always will be, ’tis hard to forget the past when it’s written all over your body.”

Admittedly, I had drunk much as I did that night for two reasons. The first was to be a bit of a show-off, and the second was because I truly loved the whisky. There came a moment when I entered a completely different plane: that of the hopelessly intoxicated. It happened in an instant, and the world tilted dangerously. But the spinning was accompanied by that strange sentimental, affectionate feeling that only alcohol can bring. I put my hand on his shoulder.

“I have trouble forgetting the past too.” For weeks I had hovered between wanting to push Jamie away and wanting to keep him close, and I had chosen both within the past five minutes.

“I can help…” His voice was barely a whisper. My heart was a hammer in my chest. It drowned out the creaks and moans of the tavern. Jamie’s face drew closer to mine, his mouth hung open slightly and his eyes were focused intently on my lips. The world surrounding him kept spinning and it made my head throb painfully. If I kept my attention on him, everything was stable. He was the focal point. I involuntarily inched forward to close the gap.

The front door banged open and raucous laughter accompanied it. A brief mixture of disappointment and relief came flooding as I nearly catapulted myself as far back as possible as quickly as possible. Rupert and Angus had returned, each with a girl in tow.

Angus waved at us without taking notice of the fact that we were both red in the face, breathing heavily, and sinfully drunk. “Jamie! Ye should have come with us!” He called cheerfully.

“I was otherwise engaged.” He answered stiffly, plucking at his tattered shirt between his thumb and forefinger.

I stood listening to this exchange numbly trying to process the last thirty seconds. Eyes shut tight, the room revolved violently although I stood still, albeit swaying a bit.

My eyes popped open with the realization that I was being addressed. “What?”

“I said,” Rupert repeated, “are ye sober?”

My face scrunched as I tried to put him into focus. “I am moderately functional.”

He howled with laughter. “I’ll take that as a no!”

As they thundered up the stairs Jamie had risen from the stool with an expectant expression. I twisted my fingers nervously. “I - I should follow their lead and head up to bed. I’m afraid I’m not going to feel very well at all come morning.” At this, I saw the line between his eyebrows deepen.

“Thank you for introducing me to the wonders of whisky,” I added, trying to lighten the mood and bring back the platonic nature of our relationship.

“Aye, Sassenach. Sleep well.”

I staggered up the stairs, clutching the railing. Jamie had returned to his seat at the bar. I saw him push the whisky away.

Laying on my back, I felt as though I was floating in water, being slowly pushed and pulled, but somewhat weightless as well. My mind too muddled to think, I passed out no thanks to the waves of vertigo swirling around my head.

I have always found that when all one wants to do is sleep, it the absolute last thing that one is able to do. I awoke painfully and peeked under the drapes. The sky had the faintest light to it, no longer dead of night but not quite dawn either.

I shuffled over to the washbasin and chugged a glass of water. Hands braced on the edge of the basin, breathing deeply, all of my problems hit me at once. I angrily shoved hair out of my face attempted to regain some control in order to figure things out.

Right then, first problem: my near kiss with Jamie. Before contemplating a solution, I gave myself a stinging chastisement. What in the ever-living fuck were you thinking Claire?!

Oh God, it was so bad. It was irreversible. I could not even recall how my face made it into such close proximity with his. I suppose it happened involuntarily. I could hear his heart pounding from where I sat. … Or was it mine? An irrational surge of anger overtook me. I wondered what could be going through Jamie’s head at the moment, I was almost certain that he was awake as well. Oh no. Would he try again? Curse that whisky, I thought, blaming the alcohol. And then it became clear. If alcohol got me into this, it would get me out.

__________________________________________________________________

Everybody must have been waiting for my arrival downstairs the following morning because it appeared they had bet both upon the time I would arise and upon how horrible I would look.

Dougal and Ned were out collecting some of the rent, but Rupert and Angus sat in the taproom barely able to control their laughter. Murtagh was chuckling as well. Out of the corner of my vision I noticed Jamie staring intently at me. I did my best not to look at him, afraid one glance would acknowledge that I did in fact remember everything.

“How are ye feeling today lass?” Angus clapped me on the shoulder as I took a seat.

I glared at him. My eyes felt swollen and heavy. “Better than ever, thank you for asking.”

“Ye ken,” he continued, “one of the best things to cure a hangover is alcohol, believe it or not.”

My stomach lurched. “Do you want me to vomit on you?”

After another round of laughter at my expense, everyone left to go about their day and I was finally allowed to eat my porridge in peace. Well, almost in peace.

“I’d say I’m sorry they were makin’ fun of ye, Sassenach. But that’s what ye get for winning a whisky drinking contest against a Scotsman.” Jamie had moved to sit across from me.

“So it was a contest? I hadn’t noticed.”

He shifted uncomfortably. “Claire, I - how much do ye remember from last night, exactly?”

Moment of truth, I hoped my acting skills were up to the task. “Well I must admit that it was a bit of a blur after the belching contest. I do believe you relieved my hair of a piece of lint but that is about it.”

A flash of grief crossed his face, he blinked rapidly and exhaled strongly through his nose. But as quickly as it had come, he pushed it away.

He tried once more, “are ye certain?” Oh God. He knew. But I was clinging to my story like a piece of driftwood in a storm.

“I’m afraid so, but one thing I do remember is how much I loved that whisky.”

The conversation continued cordially after that, but each of us knew the truth. I kept telling myself this would all make it easier for Jamie to forget me when I left. So in a way, I was thankful that he knew I was lying, that I refused to accept the truth about what happened.

As for my leaving, I had partially solved that problem as well as I lay in my drunken stupor. I thought about Dougal and his obsession with financing an army for the Prince. I could either wait until we returned to Leoch to inform Colum of his brother’s latest financial venture and still run the risk of not being set free.

Or, I could help Dougal along. Perhaps if I had some money to contribute to the cause, he would see fit to trust me. It was as Uncle Lamb used to say: “Throw money at the problem.” Perhaps Dougal would leave Jamie alone as well. However, this was where my plan was incomplete.

Should I sell something? Become a whore? Rob a bank?

That evening, the perfect opportunity would present itself to me when Rupert and Angus urged us all to come with them to have a bit of fun.

“If ye were wonderin’ where we were last night when we got back, now is yer chance to find out!” Angus was attempting to herd us out the door.

Dougal and Ned declined. Murtagh, Jamie and I shrugged and followed them. We strolled down the central street, chatting amiably until we turned a corner and stopped in front of a seemingly dark inn. I raised an eyebrow.

“Now I ken what yer’re thinkin’,” Rupert began. “But this isna just an inn. Claire I’d wager ye will be the one to enjoy this the most.”

Rupert and Angus were both standing with their backs to the tall fence that separated the inn from the property next door. Sheets of paper adorned the fence, town bulletins, advertisements, someone’s lost cat. Then I saw it. Or rather, I saw me. I saw my own face and my own kinky mop peering back at me from a wanted poster pinned right next to Rupert’s head. My eyes widened but he took no notice and kept talking. I looked helplessly at Jamie and tried discretely to dart my eyes in the direction of the poster. His eyes narrowed as a puzzled look came across his face. It did not take him long to find it.

“Oh Jesus,” he said softly.

Murtagh had seen it too, but he said nothing. Jamie’s fingers were tapping rapidly against his thigh. I could tell he was improvising a plan. They would sell me out to Dougal right away.

“Ah I see why ye wanted to come back,” Jamie said suddenly and loudly. “This is where ye met those bonny lasses, isn’t it?”

“Aye well that’s part of it!” Angus said.

He stepped forward, put his arms around their shoulders, and steered them away from the fence toward the side entrance to the inn, where the only light seemed to be coming from. Angus had begun animatedly describing his meeting with the girl from the night before with Rupert chiming in occasionally. I all but lunged forward and ripped the poster down, shoving it immediately into my pocket. Murtagh stood watching me with his arms folded. I lowered my head guiltyly and followed the others.

#Outlander #outlander fandom #outlander fanfic #jamie and claire #jamie x claire #Jamie Fraser #clairebeauchamp #the sassenach warrior

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