NOOOO YOU CANT END IT THERE I NEED THE NEXT PART ASAP I WILL SELL MY SOUL - @internallydeceased
Does this help, bud? Mod MBD.
Hard, warm fingers gripped her thighs, the longish nails digging into her skin - pushing her against the cool wall, leaving her with no exit as his foul breath fanned over her face. Claire couldn’t escape. Clinging to the image of Lallybroch, of Jamie and Jenny, she tried to anchor herself somewhere *anywhere* else.
She could barely breathe.
“You’ll do just nicely…” he cooed, the acrid scent of him causing the bile to rush along her throat.
She was going to be sick.
Tugging her legs, she tried to free her feet from the unseen binding which held her prisoner. Unable to get herself away, she struggled with all her might, kicking and battering her knees against one another in a futile attempt to escape.
“I will have your surrender,”
The voice had morphed. Now it wasn’t the gritty Scots of her unknown assailant but the cruel English lilt of Captain Jack Randall. Pulling her knees up, Claire tangled herself more as she tried to pry her closed eyes open
“I will hear you scream....”
Claire hit the floor face first, her hands pushing her up just in time for her to vomit, the mixture of bile and alcohol running down her arms as her eyes flew open. Cream walls surrounded her, not the walls of the bar or of her jail cell in Fort William, but the bare Lallybroch walls.
“O-oh…” she stuttered, the acid burning at her throat as she fully woke to find her attacker gone and in place of the tavern, her own room. There was no leery men herding her and no Jack. She was alone.
As her vision adjusted fully to the dark her stomach revolted again, the roll of the punishing liquid throwing her off balance as she tried to crawl towards the bathroom. Flushing lavatories and indoor plumbing had been an incredible shock for Claire, but at times like this she thanked Raymond profusely for transporting her here.
Clinging to the ceramic bowl, Claire leaned her clammy forehead against the seat as she tried to calm herself. Still the echoes of her past rumbled in her ears as the whooshing intensified. Tears formed as she waited for her belly to cease its disquiet gurgling. When the world was finally righted, Claire quietly washed herself down, letting the warm water from the bath taps wash away the residue of vomit from her fatigued body. She cleaned herself in silence, collecting the scrubbing brush and a small jug of water to scrub the carpets by her bed as she snuck through the eerie halls of Lallybroch.
Hovering by her own doorway, Claire debated her next move. She *should* simply curl back up in her own bed and try to sleep once more but the nightmares lingered, threatening to encase her as soon as she closed her eyes. The one person she needed in this fragile moment she knew she shouldn’t go to.
Jamie had rebuked her - kindly of course. But the sorrow in his eyes had enlightened her as to his decision before he’d even replied to her request.
“No, Claire,” he’d sighed, his shoulders rising and falling as he’d turned to leave her in the dim blackness, “I canna tonight. You’ll be alright.”
The words had stung but they hadn’t been unexpected. She’d disappointed him; had him, Jenny, Ian and Raymond out until the wee hours of the morning searching for her - it was no shock that he didn’t want to comfort her now. Especially with the residual stench of the modern tavern still clinging to her skin.
She couldn’t imagine he’d change his mind now, but if she wanted to sleep she wouldn’t be able to do it alone. Huffing out one long breath, Claire leaned against the doorway as her heart beat steadily faster in her chest. She wanted to sneak into Jamie’s room, to slide beneath his sheets and snuggle up against his chest as she had done during her recovery. He was safe, the warmth of him providing her with a calm comfort that she’d been unable to find anywhere else in her short life. Just the thought of his large arms surrounding her made her chest lighten.
Wrapping her arms around her middle, Claire bit her lip to stop the awkward quiver that had begun to spread from her throat upwards. Having sobbed herself to sleep, she didn’t want to spend the entire night in tears but the prospect of facing her cold bed alone caused her belly to tighten once more.
Covering her mouth in anticipation, Claire hightailed it back to the bathroom, her feet thumping against the rug that lay across the wooden boards on the first floor landing as she tried to reach the toilet in time. Retching, she leaned over the sink, pulling her damp hair out of the way as she spewed the remaining contents of her tummy down the plug hole. The toilet lid had been down and she hadn’t the time to spare pulling it open. Spitting, she turned the tap on, cupping her hands under the soft flow of water and holding the small pool to her lips to rid herself of the horrid taste in her mouth.
“Claire?” The sleepy voice whispered from the entrance to the bathroom.
Jamie stood, his sleep trousers riding low on his waist, his hair tousled about his head as he scratched lazily at his bare chest.
“I’m fine,” she mumbled, glancing over her shoulder at him before turning back to the sink.
“It’s the beer, aye? Did ye drink a lot, lass?”
“No,” she returned, trying to calculate whether she’d been truthful or not. In actual fact Claire couldn’t truly recall the amount she had imbibed. It had to have been enough to set her knees wobbling when she walked, enough to make her vision a little blurry when she’d travelled from the bar to the wee dancefloor area - but not enough to remove all of her inhibitions.
Claire’s mind had gone blank. She was used to drinking whisky and had been known to drink more than most men and still be standing. But the spirits she’d drunk before had nothing on some of the liquors that she’d been plied with on her illicit visit to Inverness. Her first *pint* had been strong enough to bring a nice pinking to her cheeks and she remembered all too vividly how pleased that had made her companions.
They had been trying to get her drunk, she realised. For some reason, one she couldn’t quite fathom, they had her down as a target of amusement and her naivety had drawn out a mean streak in them. Neither of her work companions had been anywhere near when the men had circled around her, making her their unsuspecting prey.
“M-maybe...I don’t really remember it all.” She finally acquiesced. Unable to lie, Claire opted to tell the truth as much as she could.
Passing her a toothbrush, Jamie squeezed some toothpaste onto the bristles and turned the tap back on. “Brush, Claire, it’ll make ye feel better - I promise.”
Doing as she was told, Claire cleaned her teeth, letting the minty fresh water swill around her mouth before spitting it back into the bowl. Jamie had been right of course and she instantly felt more human, her stomach settling, finally, as she placed the toothbrush back in the small pot on the shelf beside the sink.
“Come, lass,” he said, sliding his arm around her back and guiding her back towards her room, “you need to sleep off the awful shit you’ve been drinking.”
Claire could hear a slight lift in his humour as they walked together down the dimly lit hall and the lightness in his tone spurred her on. “I can’t sleep,” she whispered, the slight judder in her voice sending shivers down Jamie’s spine. “I don’t...I don’t want to go in alone,” she half begged. Stepping slightly away, Claire reached her hand blindly for Jamie’s as she moistened her dry lips with her tongue -- steeling herself. She didn’t want to plead with him, but she was bone tired and was practically willing to do anything to feel secure as she slept.
“Dinna fash,” Jamie began, “just put the light on afore you sleep, it’ll keep the bad dreams away. Jenny willna mind.”
Clenching her teeth together, Claire withdrew her hand and held her taut fist by her side as she nodded. Keeping her jaw locked helped to keep the tears at bay as she made to pull away from Jamie. She couldn’t really blame him for keeping her at arm's length. “Yes…” she managed, fear creeping through every inch of her.
“Christ,” Jamie cursed behind her, eventually picking up on her panic as the tense hunching of her shoulders finally piqued his attention. “What happened tonight, Claire?” He said, a little louder now as he waited for her to turn to face him. “And dinna tell me nothing, aye?”
“Raymond stopped them, so it was something and nothing…” she replied, wishing her evening had ended differently.
“Come wi’ me, Claire,” he bid, moving forward to get to close to her again. “Come on.”
Slumping against his side, Claire let Jamie support most of her weight as he directed her back to his room. She stood, swaying slightly, as Jamie peeled back his wrinkled bedsheets and helped her to crawl beneath them. She buried her nose into his spare pillow and pulled her legs up to her chest, the cool breeze hitting her spine as her front was gently warmed by Jamie’s still lukewarm sheets.
“Will ye talk to me, Claire?” Jamie asked, making himself comfortable behind her. His breath fanned against her neck as she subtly moved one foot up to lay carefully over his calf.
“They cornered me-” she began and then stopped as if compelled to do so, the memory of the attack so clear in her mind now that the alcohol-haze had cleared somewhat. As terrifying as her ordeal had been, it was nothing in comparison to her flogging at Fort William and consequent assault at the hands of Captain Randall. But in her time punishment for crimes was to be expected. Being scourged was an activity that was witnessed by whole families as sport; an attraction everyone witnessed. And most had been beaten at some point. Claire herself had received multiple thrashings as a child. Here, though, in Jamie’s time - such things just did not -or should not- happen. The emotional intensity of being set upon by two gentlemen who *should know better* fell more heavily on her than the slashes that rained down over her back by the cat ‘o’ nine.
“It’s alright, Claire, truly,” Jamie soothed, his large, gentle hands sliding softly over her arms in a reassuring manner as he felt the goosebumps rise over her shaking flesh. “It isna an excuse, but the end of the war and the revelry that followed still has some of the lads and lassies around here in odd spirits. That’s part of the reason I didna want you going out alone yet. There are still some that are up to no good, men who’re yet to return to their actual homes, men that dinna belong in Inverness who I dinna trust wi’ the livestock on the farm let alone other people.”
Claire scoffed. It was foolish to think she’d be able to blend in. They’d seen her coming, the young naive girl who didn’t quite know how to fit in, and they had taken advantage of her weaknesses. “I couldn’t even call for help the music was so loud. I wanted to fight, to punch them and escape, but my limbs wouldn’t move...h-he, the larger of the two, he said I’d do and he tore at the dress. That’s when Raymond appeared and scared them off.”
Jamie’s heart stopped for one painful minute as he envisioned Claire, scared and alone, her back against the wall in an unfamiliar place surrounded by the hum of ignorant people and general disarray. It couldn't have been pleasant for her. But then again, he had tried to warn her.
“They didna touch you, did they?” He asked, some trepidation in his voice as he sidled closer, waiting as she twisted around and curled up in a ball against the warm skin of his chest.
More centred now, Claire felt herself relax and begin to succumb to sleep once more. “No,” she sighed, “they didn’t have chance, thanks to Raymond.”
“But it haunts ye now?” Jamie said, feeling no pleasure in the words - even the ‘I told you so’ was feeling bittersweet on his tongue. He didn’t say that, though. He’d seen the extent that the superficial wounds had marked Claire - deeper than any cuts administered to her via the lash. These were psychological scars; much harder to remove or soothe.
“It was his eyes,” she said, “cold and dark -- just like Jack’s…”
Claire swallowed audibly, the shudder running straight from head to toe before it ceased, lingering in the base of her feet, making her ready to jump up and run away at the mere thought of the man.
“Two of his...friends...stood either side of him, protecting him and hiding me from sight, and when he looked down upon me he smiled - it was that which triggered the vision. I could see him, and then I could see Jack Randall. I wanted to vomit on him...then I wanted to punch him so hard that he wouldn’t have been able to see straight for days and run. Run so far away that nobody would ever find me again. But I couldn’t”
“Oh, Claire,” Jamie said sadly, “and that’s what has ye flustered tonight...wi’ the bad dreams and such?”
Their evening had felt elongated; as if it had happened over two lifetimes rather than a few short hours and Jamie couldn’t think straight enough to realise that Claire’s ordeal had only taken place only hours before. His anger had spiked the moment she’d asked for company. Seeing her, head down shoulders shriveled inwards, on his driveway had gone someway to extinguishing the displeasure he felt at her daft actions but the need for him as a human bandage to calm her frayed nerves had pushed him back into feeling some indignation at her careless actions.
Claire had been incredibly silly. Disobeying his request, sneaking out into the night with Jenny’s clothes not even leaving a note to say where she’d gone and who she’d gone with only to return later in Raymond's company half molested stinking of stale beer, wine and God knows what else. That in itself had been bad enough, but then to seek comfort from him because she needed *anything* had him riled.
Only now did he feel awful at his snap judgement. It shouldn’t have mattered that she’d left unaccompanied when he’d asked her not to, the truth of it was that she had been close to a hurt nobody should ever experience in a place she’d been cannily lured to by people she’d thought to be friends. She was shaken and he should have stepped up to the plate and taken care of her in that moment. She’d been callously attacked and his flippant disregard for her fraught mental state wasn’t helpful to either of them.
Claire nodded, a silent answer to his previous question. “It made me sick...but I cleaned it up, h-hopefully it won’t stain.”
“Don’t worry yerself over that, Claire,” Jamie said, laying the flat of his hand over the base of her spine. “Can you sleep now?” He asked already guessing the answer.
“Yes, I think so.” She replied, already half gone.
Jamie was a rock, a silent guardian whose aura allayed the nightmares, causing them to flee from her mind. Her heart beat out a dull rhythm in her chest now as the quiet hum of the massive outdoor generator vibrated through the back wall of the house.
“Good, mo nighean donn,” he said unconsciously, saying the Gaelic words without even thinking about it - he had been calling her that in his head since she’d arrived and it just seemed natural for him to rock her to sleep using the endearment. “Rest then. You’ll need your strength.”
“Yes, Jamie,” Claire replied, the airy nature of her words making Jamie’s eyelids feel heavier and heavier as he drifted too, the tense set of his muscles melting away with her solidly between his arms. “I can sleep now…”
Waking dreamily, Claire tilted her head upwards, her eyes only half open as she grazed her nose along the long lines of Jamie’s neck. Glancing upwards she noted the bridge of his nose and how it sat prominently between his elegant cheekbones. She’d woken before wrapped around him, but in her fevered state she had barely noticed the beauty of the man. Now, more compus mentus, Claire took stock of all of his features.
As she was starting, Jamie licked his lips, his tongue hovering for just a moment against his flushed skin before disappearing once more.
The urge to kiss him struck her so powerfully that she almost followed through on her silent want. But she didn’t. Blinking languidly, she felt her lips twitch into a small smile. The thought was enough to start her fingers fluttering as a suspicious tingle began to take root at the base of her belly.
Biting her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, she tried to quash the need. But it had now solidified within her, an urge so deeply ingrained that Claire had to squeeze her eyes closed and dip her head lower to dim the flames. With her vision clouded by the blackness behind her lids now, she began to imagine what Jamie would taste like. His lips looked soft, the slight pucker of the bottom one being more prominent than the top. They were enticing and she couldn’t believe that she hadn’t noticed it before - but she was glad that she hadn’t
Beside her, Jamie began to stir. His legs flexed besides hers pulling her from her desirous thoughts as Claire stored her new feelings away to deal with at a different time. For now, it was important that she didn’t act upon any impulsive decisions without Jamie’s consent.
“How did you sleep?” He whispered, moving very little, almost as if he wasn’t sure whether she was awake or not.
“Very well,” she replied, the breathlessness in her voice hidden by the angle of her head. Every inch of her felt incredible sensitive, her skin responding to every move Jamie made as she tried to keep her yearning to herself for the moment.
“Good.” Jamie said, dozing once more now he was certain Claire was relaxed.
Happy to lie there still, Claire leaned her ear against Jamie’s chest, waiting until she was certain he was sleeping again before she began to count the steady beats of his heart, her hand resting against the flat of his back, holding him to her as close as she could possibly get.
If this was what love felt like, Claire thought contentedly, then she was happy to fall under its spell.
