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The soft firelight flickered off curving wooden beams, highlighting the soft tones of red, orange and amber and casting strange shadows on the oak panelled walls. Outside, rain and wind lashed the trees and rattled against the glass windows, but inside was warm and dry.
I tipped up my glass of rich, amber coloured whisky, draining the last drops and savouring the warm, spicy taste it left in my mouth. To drink any true Scottish whisky is a pleasure, but to drink something I had helped brew myself was even better. From barley we had grown and harvested ourselves, no less.
I stretched forward, setting my empty glass on the low table before the fire and settling back in my chair. I had the pleasant ache which comes from a day spent working hard. As I relaxed, I could feel my sore muscles slowly giving and softening as they realised that their burden had been relieved for the moment.
I had done no more than close my eyes when the bedroom door behind me blew open with a gust of wind so cold it made me shiver. I had half closed the shutters over the windows and closed the door when I came upstairs, so I hadn’t noticed the sudden drop in temperature. Dropped it had, though, and the wind had evidently found a way into the house.
“Close the bloody door.” I grumbled, pulling the folds of my woollen shawl more firmly about my shoulders and snuggling deeper into the chair.
“Well, good evening to ye too, Sassenach.” The amused words were accompanied by a warm kiss and a cold hand against my cheek. “I hope ye saved some of the whisky for me.”
Huffing a sigh of mock annoyance, I sat up, looking over the tall, damp and muddy Scot in front of me, who had left a very nice trail of melting snow and ice in his wake, along with a thick layer of mud. “Jamie!” I scolded, pointing to the puddles all over the floor as if he were a disobedient dog. “Have I not told you to get anything wet off before you come inside? Especially when you come upstairs.”
“Aye, ye have.” He dipped his head, flashing me a devilish grin as he began stripping off the sodden coat and laying it near the fire to dry. “Only, it’s so cold out there, I was more than half afraid I might loose my balls if I were not quick enough. I decided that getting my backside skelped by my wife was a much more preferable choice.”
“Oh, it is, is it? Well, that’s all you know.” I glared at him, which unfortunately only made him laugh.
He turned away, rubbing a large hand over his damp hair until he had sufficient control of him mirth to look at me again. “I’m sorry, Sassenach, truly I am.”
“I know.” I swung my feet off the settle and patted the space beside me. “Though, ‘sorry’ won’t dry the floor. And you’re the one who is always telling me the wood can’t get wet until you’ve waxed it, or else it will rot.” He settled down beside me, wrapping an arm over my shoulders. He smelt of pine trees, snow, hay and animals, as well as the deep, masculine scent which was simply Jamie.
“And how has your day been, Sassenach?” His tone was deceptively light, trying to change the subject without my notice. “I feel as though I’ve hardly seen you at all.”
I tucked my feet beneath my skirts and cuddled against his side. Damp and chilled though he was, I could still feel the warm furnace which always seemed to burn within him, regardless of his outward temperature. I don’t know wether he felt overly warm or not, but it made him deliciously comfortable to curl up with during long winter nights. “Oh, well enough. Two burned fingers, from the same hand, mind, a sprained wrist, five cases of lice, all from the same family, thank goodness, and a thigh cut almost in half by a rebounding axe head, which required thirty stitches.”
Jamie smiled down at me, his hand toying with strands of my unruly hair which had worked themselves loose during the course of the day. “Well, as fascinating as cut thighs sound, perhaps ye could wait until I’ve eaten my supper? I dinna think I can stomach eating meat with the picture of mangled flesh filling my mind.”
I rolled my eyes, seeing right through his badly disguised plea for food. “Alright, alright, I’m going.”
“And I’ll go see to the horses while you do that. Everyone else has been fed, just not them.”
“Why ever not?” I asked, wondering if I was missing something. “You’re only going to get wet again.”
“Aye, I ken that. I simply had an urge to see my wife, and so I did.” He said, casting a glance outside to where the rain was coming down in sheets against the window. “At least the weather is not so bad as it was earlier.”
I cast a doubtful glance outside, but said nothing. I had learned during my time in Scotland that unless the house was swept away by a flood, a Scotsman never really counted it as rain. I got to my feet, turning to make my way downstairs to the kitchen, only to have Jamie catch my hand and pull me back.
“Wait, Sassenach.” He tugged me into his lap and kissed me thoroughly, lips warm upon my own. Laughing softly against his mouth, I put my arms about his neck and twined my fingers in his still wet hair. “See how it is?” He said, drawing back and smiling up at me. “I said I missed ye, so I simply had to come in for a while.”
“You’re a daft thing, did you know that?”
He kissed me again, hands gliding down my back and giving my bottom an affection squeeze. “Aye, that I am. But I’m your daft thing, am I no?” He nuzzled playfully at my neck before setting me back on my feet and heading downstairs, straight outside into the downpour, completely forgetting his coat.
I watched him go, a warm feeling filling me from head to toe. There had been a time when we had both been more than half afraid that we would grow tired of each other, now we were spending every day together, but nothing could have been further from the truth. Instead, it seemed the bond between us only grew and strengthened, until it felt as if we were one and the same people. We had an understanding, an unshakable connection, something which ran far deeper than anything else I had ever felt before. I found myself recalling what he had said to me all those years ago in Scotland, when we had sat atop one of the huge mountains and looked out over the vast, rolling land before us.
“Do you ken what it is between us when I touch you, when you lie with me…is it always so between a man and a woman?”
No, it wasn’t, I had known that then, and it was still the same now. I knew what we had was rare, and for that reason I was all the more grateful.
Pulling my gaze away from the shadowed figure of Jamie, tossing hay to the stamping, impatient horses, I focused my mind on supper. It was late, and I wanted something quick and simple.
By the time Jamie came back in, removing his boots this time before he entered, the house smelt of sizzling bacon and warm bread. I added a potful of Beans and Barley to the table, along with a few of the cucumbers I had pickled. An odd addition, perhaps, but I knew Jamie loved them. I often thought he would have made a good boar, for he could eat a full spread of food and still have room for anything I might have put together for dessert. I began serving out while he changed into something dry, knowing that dripping all over my dining room as well would be one step too far.
“Smells wonderful, Sassenach.” He said, leaning over my shoulder to see what I had put together.
“Why, thank you.” I said, pouring out a glass each of whisky. “I’ve been hard at work all day over this, as you can tell.”
He sat down, eyes still roaming over the table. It was then he caught sight of the pickled cucumbers, and his face lit up with enthusiasm. “I love ye.”
The sincerity in his voice made me laugh.
“Well, they do say that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.” I said cheerfully, in between bolting down my meal. I had had nothing since lunch, and that had been hours ago. We ate in silence, both of us far to hungry to think of anything but food. When at last we had finished, I rose with a yawn and began clearing the dishes. It wasn’t often that I missed the comforts of twentieth century life, but having to boil the water over the fire before I could start washing up occasionally felt just that little bit harder than it should.
Jamie reached out, grasping my hand and gently prizing the pot handle from it. “Come, Sassenach. Let the dishes be for now, an’ I’ll help ye with them later.” Placing the pot back on the table, he drew me over to the fire and sat us down before it. I was far too tired to argue, and so did no more than make a half hearted protest as he wrapped his arms about me, pulling me onto his lap and kissing the top of my head.
“What’s this about?” I asked, snuggling into his chest. He smelt of outside things again; fresh hay, horses and other animals, rain and wind. “Have you done something you shouldn’t?”
“Am I no allowed to simply sit with my wife?” He ran his fingers through my hair, the firelight catching the different colours. Some dark brown, some lighter, some sable and covering it all, a light tint of silver grey. “Have I told ye recently how beautiful ye are, mo nighean donn? When ye sit in the firelight, and it glows off yer skin, ye look just as ye did when I first lay eyes on ye. Though,” he added, raising his eyebrows, “yer a good bit cleaner now then ye were then, Sassenach. An you’re no walking about in yer shift, either.”
“As I’ve said,” I began, tipping my head back and looking up at him in exaggerated patience. “In 1945, my ‘shift’ was a perfectly respectable summer dress.”
He frowned, gently rubbing his fingers over my own. “Were ye not a bit cold, running about in autumn whi’ no more than a thin dress of...what did ye say it was again? Rayon?”
“Well, I was a bit cold.” I admitted, recalling that fateful day when I had gone alone to Craigh na Dun and fallen quiet literally through time. “But it looking nice, and I knew that that particular dress was one of Frank’s favourites.”
I glanced at Jamie’s face as I spoke of Frank, my first husband and the man I had gone back through the stones to and spent twenty years alongside, but saw nothing at all to hint at jealousy or annoyance. Yet another thing I loved so much about Jamie; from day one he had made it perfectly clear to me that I could speak of Frank whenever I wished, and he would be willing to listen.
“Aye, well, I rather like ye in a shift, too. Though,” he added, tracing a gentle finger under the line of my jaw, “to be perfectly honest, I prefer ye out of one.”
Before I could rely, the floor under us suddenly bumped and creaked as something slammed into it. “What the bloody hell was that?!” I gasped, looking down at the cedar flooring with suspicion and waiting for some great beast to suddenly irrupt from it.
“That,” Jamie said, glancing down at the floor. “Is the White Sow making her contribution to the conversation.”
The White Sow was a huge pig Jamie had acquired via a game of cards. She was a nasty, vicious thing, who should have been eaten long ago, or so I thought. She took great delight in escaping her pen and running rampant throughout the farm and surrounding woodland, and made her home wherever she took a fancy to. It had previously been in my pantry, and I had made it clear to both the Sow and my husband that if the pig ever got into my house again, I would shoot her on the spot without question or trial. They had both apparently taken me at my word, for Jamie had indeed taken great pains to see that the sow never stepped foot over the threshold again.
Her only redeeming feature was that she was an excellent breeder, and was at this moment heavy with her offspring.
“Why is the sow from hell living under the house?” I asked, getting up and adding more wood to the fire. The rain made it smoky, and the draw was not functioning particularly well. Jamie reached behind him for the whisky decanter, pouring out a glass of the amber liquid.
“Because she dinna take much of a fancy to her pen. Mothers can be funny about where they have their babies.”
I settled back down beside him, taking the glass from his hand. “Well, if she’s so fussy, then why did she choose to go under the house? It’s dark, cramped and probably damp under there.” I sipped at the whisky, handing it back to him. “Thank you.”
He smiled, taking a drink himself before setting the glass on the table. “She kens that under the house is one of the only places that I won’t chase her out of.” He chuckled, wrapping his arm back over my shoulders. “I already spent a good hour removing her from the privy.”
I snorted, tossing him a look of disbelief. “Right...because I’m sure that a pig would choose to squeeze herself in there.”
“But she did!” Jamie insisted. “She were all stood up on the seat, she was. Looked mighty pleased with herself, too. Every time I tried to get close enough to slap her rump with a wee stick, the little madam would try and take a chunk out of my leg.”
“And so,” he went on, picking up a stick of kindling for demonstration purposes, “I slid in behind her, like this.” He proceeded to shove me off the settle, sliding into the spot I had just vacated. “And I got my stick, and reminded the wee she-devil who is master around here.” He finished up his story with a smart slap of his stick on my backside. I gave a yip of surprise, twisting around to glare at him. He grinned, giving me a look that was sweetly innocent. “She then ran off squealing and vanished under the house. I don’t think she’s been out since.”
“Well, perhaps you should go join her.” I grumbled, trying to force him back to his own side of the settle. Failing that, I simply sat down on top of him.
He wrapped his arms about me, laying his cheek against my hair. “Ah, mo chridhe.” He murmured, breath warm against my face. “My sweet lass...” I turned my head to look at him, taking in the blue eyes, soft with affection, and the brilliant red hair which had hardly faded with age, though he were now nearing fifty. I felt as though I knew every part of him, every line, every scar, every muscle. He was so familiar to me that I was sure I knew him better than I knew myself. He traced his fingers down the side of my face, soft fingers, despite the callouses caused by hard labour. “What are you thinking of, Sassenach?”
“That I love you.”
I so rarely told him I loved him. Not for any particular reason, other than that I was unaccustomed to it. My Uncle Lamb, who had raised me since a very young age after my parents had died in a car crash, had never been vocal about his love for me. I always knew I was loved, and never was given any reason to doubt it, but I had never gotten into the habit of telling anyone I loved them. Aside from my daughter, Bree, that is. But a child is different to a husband. Jamie knew I loved him, yet there was something in his gaze as I told him so that proved just how much my words meant to him.
“And I love you.” He lent forward, kissing me on the forehead. “Come to bed?”
I cast a glance back at the dinner table, where the dishes still needed doing and then looked to the fire, which would need banking up for the night.
“Leave the dishes and the fire, Sassenach. I’ll come and sort them after ye are abed.”
I smiled, laying my head against his shoulder. “Alright then. Though I’m so tired, I don’t think I’ll be able to walk...”
“Not too tired, I hope.” He teased, running a suggestive forefinger along the line of my jaw.
“No.” I assured him, reaching up to brush a few escaping strands of hair back behind his ear. “I don’t believe I shall ever be too tired for you, Jamie. And besides, the kind of activity you have in mind doesn’t require me walking anywhere, does it?”
With a kiss to my forehead, he scooped me up and carried me up the staircase…