Christi Whitson

Summary:

As an Unspeakable at the height of Grindelwald’s war, Claire Beauchamp has seen her share of violence, intrigue, and extraordinary magic, but nothing could have prepared her for an involuntary tumble through time. There are few places more dangerous for a witch than 18th-century Scotland. Not only must she worry about overzealous muggles, but if her own government caught wind of her time-travel mishap, they’d lock her away for the rest of her life to avoid risking a paradox. With no safe way back and nowhere to go, what else could she do but try to blend in?

And then there’s Jamie Fraser. She’d seen his latent magic the second she’d laid eyes on him, and within an hour of learning his name, she knew he possessed the power to change her life irrevocably. But how could her soulmate turn out to be a semi-magical man from another century? And how would he react when he inevitably learned that the legends and folklore he’d been raised on weren’t so mythical after all?

He’d once wondered aloud if his insatiable need for her would ever stop, and he was pleased to say that even after two decades, he wanted her just as desperately as the first time he’d taken her to bed. Jamie kissed her again, this time with the deference he would use when handling something precious and fragile.

Rapid footsteps thundered past the warded door, and Claire chuckled against his lips.

“We really should get moving. It’s going to be a long day.”

While she finished dressing--an activity he’d shamelessly interrupted--Jamie poked his head out of the door and was assaulted with the pleasant scent of breakfast wafting up from the kitchen. He listened for a moment to identify the troublemakers and was unsurprised to realize his youngest daughter and Jenny’s youngest son were once again at odds.

“You might--or might not--be surprised to hear we’ve been quietly investigating you for several months now, Madam Fraser. Once we examined the reading of your magical signature after the incident with your nephew, we sealed your case and forbade the DMLE from pursuing the matter of your conflict with Mr. Randall.”

I wasn’t all that surprised by the revelation, especially after everything Randall had said. And I knew department procedure well enough to understand what constituted a quiet investigation. They’d been working undercover, questioning various people in the periphery of our lives, and removing the memories of those conversations to avoid detection.

Grateful as I was to have the DMLE off my back, I certainly didn’t want the DoM on it either.

“Why?” I asked with more than a hint of trepidation. “You didn’t know me--no one really did at that point. Why give me a pass?”

Callidus smiled again, this time somewhat wry but also more genuine.

“Because your magic shows evidence of temporal displacement, of course. But you already know that.” I exhaled sharply as he went on, “Not only do you possess mage sight, but you’ve sworn the traditional oaths of an Unspeakable. The proof is all over your magic. You’re one of us, Madam Fraser. It didn’t suit our purposes to let the DMLE arrest you.”

And isn’t that the definition of a loaded statement, I thought, my mind whirling as I tried to consider all of the angles. Glancing reflexively in the direction of Randall’s body, I caught Jamie’s eye and found him watching me intently. I could feel his anxiety bubbling beneath the surface of his cool expression and tried to push a little reassurance through the bond.

“State your purpose here or get the hell off my land,” Jamie commanded, desperate to draw the man’s attention away from Claire. Randall glanced at him with eyes full of dark amusement and open challenge.

“Now, now. There’s really no need for things to get ugly. Not yet, at least. As to my purpose… Well, I’m here for a bit of vengeance, of course. Honor must be satisfied. But beyond that, all I really want is information.”

“Information?”

“Indeed. Answers to questions that have been plaguing me for nearly a year. And I know Madam Fraser has the ability to give them, even if she can do nothing else at the moment.”

Claire glanced pointedly at the bracelet, and Jamie finally understood what Randall had done. The bracelet had blocked her magic somehow, making her as defenseless as any muggle woman unfortunate enough to cross Randall’s path.

I sighed as I watched Jamie kneel in front of me to slip my shoes onto my swollen feet, uncertain whether I wanted to vent my irritation with scathing words or simply weep.

I’d heard numerous women talk about what it was like to be pregnant, of course, but nothing could truly prepare anyone for the complete and unavoidable loss of body autonomy. Everything that didn’t ache was swollen, I didn’t dare stray more than a hundred feet from a chamber pot, and despite my physical discomfort, my libido was akin to that of a teenaged boy. We’d had more sex in the past three weeks than in the three months directly following our wedding.

And that was saying something.

Even now, as Jamie rose to his feet and bent to kiss me, I could taste myself on his lips and felt my core clench with renewed longing. He pulled away and turned to finish dressing himself, and I huffed in chagrin, inwardly chastising myself for lamenting the loss of his nudity. If I’d had my way, he’d never wear a stitch while in our bedchamber, and he’d go around in his kilt all year.

He threw a knowing smirk over his shoulder.

“And your da knew? All that time, and he never said a word?” Murtagh sputtered, looking thoroughly put out. “We shared damn near everything else…”

It had taken hours to fill him in on everything he’d missed or never known to begin with, but he’d held up surprisingly well under the onslaught of information. He’d been understandably stunned but, to his credit, only slightly wary of Claire at first, declaring that anyone with eyes could see how much she loved his godson and how happy they were.

“Try not to take it personally,” Claire replied gently. “Odds are, he was mostly trying to protect his mother. Davina had raised him to stay silent about it, and he’d likely seen what happened to those accused of witchcraft.”

Murtagh winced.

“Aye, I suppose. Though, that sort of thing didna happen too often around Beaufort. There were always rumors about her, but Brian never seemed to take them seriously, so I didna give them much thought either. The Old Fox did keep strange sorts about him. Still does. Seers and the like.”

“Aye, but that auld bastard never kent anything about true magic. ‘Tis good to see ye, lad.”

The bond was screaming, and his wedding ring was hot against his skin.

Something was happening to Claire--that much was perfectly clear. It had been months since he’d sensed her to this extent, but now that the floodgates had burst open, he was struggling to breathe under the onslaught.

She was miles away and yet somehow there, just within reach of his consciousness. It only took a few moments of concentrated effort to decipher her convoluted emotions, for he recognized the heady mix of anger, fear, and exhilaration all too well. Something had provoked her, and her blood was up.

A comfortable silence stretched between them as Jamie traced swirling patterns over her skin, and she began to doze. But her eyes fluttered open in confusion at his next words. “Do ye ever wish I was like you?”

“What do you mean?” Claire frowned in bewilderment as she adjusted her position for a better view of his face. He found himself wishing he hadn’t asked, but he’d never been one to back down.

“Do ye ever wish I was a wizard?”

She blinked in surprise but answered without hesitation.

“No. In all honesty, it’s never occurred to me to even consider it. You’re you. You’re my soulmate and my perfect match--just as you are. Why would I want to change that?” she asked with a soft but tentative smile. “Do you ever wish I wasn’t a witch?”

The note of confidence in her voice told him she already knew his answer, but he gave it anyway.

“I never thought there could be worse ways to travel than by sea,” he admitted, and I nodded empathetically.

“I doubt you’d enjoy brooms or portkeys either, but floo travel isn’t so bad. At least they’re all faster than a boat,” I replied, gesturing over my shoulder.

Jamie peeked out onto the street, eyes wide with shock at the irrefutable proof that we’d traveled from the Scottish Highlands to Central London in the time it would’ve taken him to draw his dirk.

“Aye, I’ll give ye that one.” He stood silently for a moment, just observing the oblivious bystanders with a thoughtful expression. “Do ye think I’ll ever get used to it?”

“To apparition? Yes, the first time’s always the worst. Though, I can’t say you’ll ever enjoy it.”

“Nay, to… to magic, I mean. Do ye think there’ll ever come a day when ye do something impossible right before my eyes and I just… take it in stride?”

I smiled softly and slipped my hand into his, giving it a reassuring squeeze as I let my love for him float across the bond and wrap around him like his warmest plaid.

“Someday, yes. You’re already on your way. I promise it won’t always seem so strange. I know it’s disconcerting at times, and I’m just so thankful you’re open-minded enough not to be afraid of it,” I admitted.

He met my gaze and cupped my cheek in his hand.

“I’ve never been afraid of you, mo ghraidh. Only that I’ll no’ be able to keep ye safe because I canna do the things you can do.”

“Won’t Murtagh wonder why he’s been to France and back, at Leoch, traveling wi’ the MacKenzies, and such?”

“Yes, but part of the spell works to discourage people from dwelling on it. They’ll acknowledge it as an unknown factor, but their minds won’t perceive it as anything important enough to remember. We can tell him when he gets back.”

“Mmhph. Suppose it’s only fair that he have some more time to live for himself without having to worry what calamity I’ll stumble into next.”

“I was estranged from my own family by then and made my living as a lady’s maid at the time,” Davina explained. “I’d grown quite attached to the dowager--her name was Amelia--and quite protective of her too. She was a kind, sweet-tempered woman. Far too good for the likes of him.”

I narrowed my eyes at the gleam of righteous vindication in hers.

“And you… did something to avenge her?” I guessed. Davina chuckled darkly.

“You’re a sharp one, lass. Slytherin?”

“Gryffindor, actually,” I laughed. “Though I was offered Slytherin and Ravenclaw as well.”

As we ventured up another staircase to the top floor, we passed a portrait that made me stop in my tracks. Its occupant was a lovely young woman with black hair, Jamie’s blue eyes, and a smile much like Jenny’s. Her dress was modest but refined, and she’d been painted in a garden setting. There were other portraits on display, and to anyone else, this would have looked like a typical oil painting--just like the rest. But there was no denying the presence of ambient magic.

“Who is this?” I asked tremulously.

“My father’s mother. Her name was Davina Porter,” Jamie replied softly, studying the portrait with an expression that said he’d done a thousand times and didn’t expect to see anything new. “This must ha’ been painted when she was a lass. She was quite a bit older when she died.”

I hummed thoughtfully and continued to eye the woman’s painted face, drawing my wand to cast a quick diagnostic charm. Jamie made an inquisitive sound.

“There’s ambient magic. Not just a trace, like with your ring. This magic is strong. Magical portraits are interactive, even the landscapes. Images of people or other beings capable of speech can move and speak. They can even retain the same information the subject possessed when they died,” I explained, watching the woman’s face closely.

Not a twitch.

“I’ve never seen anything like that,” he replied, now scrutinizing the painting with mild alarm. I frowned and ended the charm.

“Well, it’s definitely a magical portrait. Odd, though. Most of the time, when they’re not active, the subjects appear to be sleeping. Though, I’ve seen some in muggle museums, in my time, that have perfected the art of holding still.”

Quite suddenly, the woman blinked, and her painted smile widened.

Haltingly, he explained the way their paths had crossed near Craigh na Dun and how he’d felt when he saw her, first held her.

“Even before she regained consciousness, I was drawn to her. I couldna stand thought of anyone else touchin’ her, so I put her on my horse and refused to hear a word against it. And then when she finally opened her eyes… There really aren’t words to describe it properly. It was… profound. Like she was the reason I was born.”

Jamie looked at his wife then and got a little lost in her eyes for a moment, unable to pull his gaze away until his sister emitted a quiet scoff. To his surprise, Jenny only looked patiently amused.

“Aye, you’re right royally besotted, a bhalaich. ‘Tis clear as day.”

“That I am,” he agreed with a grin. “But ‘tis more than that… It didn’t take long to realize we were connected in a way that defied all logic. It was as though we were tied to each other by an invisible cord that grew shorter each day and caused terrible pain when we were apart. I thought I was going mad at first, but then I realized it wasna just me--Claire felt it too. Though, she tried to fight it.”

Claire smiled sheepishly but didn’t interrupt.

“‘Twas so much bigger, so much more than simply falling in love, a nighean. It was a true, spiritual connection, and it wasn’t until weeks later that I finally learned the cause of it. It was… magic.”

“Your anxiety is starting to make me nervous,” Claire interrupted his thoughts. “What’s on your mind?”

With a sigh, Jamie voiced his prior thoughts and added, “The reasons I left Lallybroch are still good reasons. And since Randall saw me again recently, I wouldna be at all surprised if he went back and tried to harass my whereabouts out of Jenny. He’ll not ha’ forgotten how it all started. ‘Tis infuriating to know we wouldna be in this mess if--”

“Forgotten!”

Her spine straightened against his chest, and he twitched in surprise at her interruption. When she twisted a little to look at him, her beautiful face was alight with some epiphany, and he felt himself smile in inquiry.

“I could make him forget, Jamie! Make everyone forget!”

“I thought we agreed tampering with his memory was too great a risk.”

“No, not obliviation,” she replied, shaking her head as her smile widened. “This would be much bigger than that. What we need is for Randall to forget he ever crossed paths with you, forget that there’s a price on your head and that you escaped his custody, all of it. But not just him--everyone! They’d forget you were ever arrested at all. No more Redcoats searching for you, no more worrying about whether the Watch or some poor crofter might turn you in for the money… I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before now!”

“I’m your husband. I should be the one to keep ye safe from anything that threatens you. What can I offer if no’ the protection of my body? My home, my clan? Ye have magic, Claire, and I don’t. Do ye even need me at all?”

She sat up abruptly and twisted her hand in mid-air, conjuring a small orb of light no brighter than a candlestick. Her eyes shone with incredulity, and when she replied, her voice was laced with it as well.

“Of course I do. How can you even ask that?”

“How could I not? The last time I had the misfortune of holding Randall’s attention, I nearly died. I’ve nay doubt he fully intends to see me hanged, and if he comes after me with a wand instead of a gun, there willna be a thing I can do to stop him. And what kind of man looks to his wife for protection at a time like that?”

“The smart kind,” she retorted, ignoring the desolation that had bled into his voice. “The kind who knows a wife is meant to be an equal partner, not a liability. We each have our strengths, Jamie. There’s no shame in utilizing them.”

“And what can I offer ye that ye canna provide for yourself? That ye canna provide for both of us?” he huffed in frustration. Claire looked wounded, and his heart ached at the sight.

“Jamie… I was pulled through time because magic itself ordained that we belong together. We’re two parts of a whole, destined to meet and fall in love again and again, over the course of many lifetimes. We’ve known and loved each other before, perhaps countless times. Can’t you feel that?”

To my bewilderment and alarm, the woman placed the infant in a hollow portion of the tree that offered minimal shelter from the chilly night air, and although I couldn’t see her expression, the strangled sob that escaped her made my heart clench. I was even more astonished when she retreated quickly, leaving her child alone.

I opened my mouth to object, but Jamie pressed a finger to my lips and shook his head, gesturing toward the woman as though imploring me to wait until she was well out of earshot. Agitated, I pushed his hand away and rose to my feet, intent on retrieving the child, but he shadowed the movement and held me in place.

“Nay, Sassenach,” he whispered urgently. “She’ll not ha’ gone far, and ye dinna want to be seen interfering in such a thing.”

“Interfering in what?” I hissed. “Child abandonment?”

“Nay. ‘Tis a changeling. She only wants her bairn back.”

I stopped trying to wriggle out of his hold and frowned up at him, a chill trickling down my spine.

“Changeling…”

“Aye. Folk say when the faeries steal a human child away, they leave one of their own in its place. It doesna thrive and grow as it should, so they leave the changeling in a place like this in hopes their stolen child will be returned.”

I sighed and looked back at the tree, casting a silent spell to detect human presence. The charm didn’t reach far enough to register the young woman, but it should have given some indication of life near the large tree. But it didn’t. I sank slowly back to the ground, my eyes still fixed on the hollow of the tree and the bundle of blankets I now knew did not conceal a child at all.