#frser

the walls of lallybroch had always been home , though now ? he finds the walls altered with the passing of time. jenny , and ian not quite as he remembered them ... memories that linger and do not quite match what has happened in his absence , absence there's guilt. an air to jamie that he knows stems from the desire to be once more known to tenants , to uphold his fathers name whose untimely death never quite sat right in heart. the idea of his father watching him as randall unleashed hell upon broad shoulders was enough to weaken any man with a strong constitution. his father had been the only man whom jamie wished to measure himself against. ' are you saying you don't like who i've become ? ' his brows knit as an eyebrow arches , ' claire i cannot turn my people away .... perhaps it is ego that rules me , the want to be everything that my father once envisioned for such a place ' his voice steadfast , stubbornness and pride swell. ' for i can see the past and present within these very halls and i don't think i was ready for such a thing , it's my fault you don't know jenny ... my fault that i have perhaps been drinking more than my fair share - my father's shadow is one that is more painful than i care to admit ' the fireplace etches his features in such a light that make him quite vulnerable , the idea that he is but three and twenty. in later years he'll look back with the knowledge that he hadn't been the best husband , that marriage was more complicated than one could imagine.

' i love you sasanach , i'm sorry if my fear of the past has mixed with the present ' an arm going to rest upon the hearth of the fireplace that resides in their bedroom , a room that had once belonged to his parents , ' what can i do to put you at ease ? '

"The problem isn't who you've become." A young and uncertain husband, unsure of what to do with his time traveling, forward thinking wife - in his position, she's not sure what she'd do either. However, they have grown into their dynamic. They had well before their wedding was ever arranged. No, that's not what she refers to here. He took her past the threshold of Lallybroch and became someone else, that someone is not Jamie.

"Jamie, if I had the opportunity to meet Jenny sooner then who is to say I would have gotten to meet her at all. You wouldn't have been at Leoch, your shoulder wouldn't have been injured. I'd probably be dead in the ditch because Murtagh wouldn't have been there to find rescue me in my confusion." The pieces had fallen just so for their meeting. She isn't religious, never put so much faith in a singular being in that way, but for Jamie and this mysterious connection, this constant need to be near to him that puts a shame to her marriage with Frank and all the love she thought herself capable of wanting, needing, and able to give. "Jenny and I will come to terms with time. I am a sassenach," there's a sting to the word that bites unlike the loving way Jamie says it, "In her home. I will have to gain her trust just as I di the McKenzie's. I only hope that there will be less crass language in the process."

" you're ready to crawl out of your skin, aren't you? " there is a mischievous glint in her eye as she approaches the man. she'd noticed him first during her performance. it would have been impossible not to, towering as he did over the the crowd of pampered society dilettantes. and he was as out of place as he was eye-catching. she cared little who he was, only that he might prove an interesting diversion. now that she had sung for the gathered company, they would fawn over her for a few minutes, paying lofty compliments to her artistry, before forgetting her unworthy presence as easily they did the footman who ladled out their soup at dinner. their hostess would brag that she'd had a famous singer perform at her soiree, but she would never deign to consider her of equal society...

but this gentleman did not have the same pinched look about him that came with pampered wealth. perhaps his taste in company and conversation would be equally refreshing. she tips her head up to meet his gaze, one brow raised coolly. " was my performance so very unbearable? "

“ nothing’s going to be as good as it was before. “

"Maybe not, but one can always strive to make it better."

Least, taking on the rather optimistic thought to his words, small smile appearing on her features.

in spite of the pain from his wound, chauvelin could have laughed in his face. generally speaking, he liked the frasers well enough — they, at least, had courage and good sense, which was more than chauvelin could say for most of their fellow britons. liking someone, however, was not the same as trusting them, and for all that mr. and mrs. fraser claimed to be down-to-earth, they had still swept through the courts in their finery and lace alongside the aristocrats and royals. claire's gentle tending of his wound and jamie's empty reassurances did not change the difference of position between them.

what do you know of paris life, étranger? he might have sneered. what do you know of the gutter and the stink of the street?

51!

Feet fall harshly upon the dried earth, steps heavy and crunching twigs and leaves beneath her swift sprint. A forest that had seemed familiar, yet suddenly wasn’t all at once; a shift that was entirely uncertain, that left her confused and wandering to attempt to get aid - least, someone or something that could clarify where she was now. A landmarking that she could recognize, a person wandering around; people were found, but not quite the most helpful.

Breaths fall heavy, nearly hearing pulse rushing in her ears with the shouts of strangers calling towards her, hearing them grow closer and closer as her next option appears to be a possible aid - nearly skidding to hide herself behind a rather large hill, dark brows furrowing in a thought she mutters to herself.

“What the hell. . .”

@frser

Lallybroch is warm for the night, everyone nestled into their own rooms and with any hope, the home is asleep for the night all but the master of the home.

@frser said: “you have my word.”

" your word, " she repeated, eyeing him closely, her expression guarded. " and what is your word worth, exactly? "

it was not in her nature to trust. nor to accept help from others. it was even less in her nature to ask for it - not from anyone. and especially not from a servant... still, she could not pretend there wasn't something vaguely reassuring about the man. sturdy. intriguing. and, truth be told, far more interesting than the young ladies of the house whose company she was meant to be keeping. perhaps it was that which had prompted her to ask for his assistance. or, more specifically, for his secrecy.

@frser said: “our luck has deserted us.”

a wry smile quirked at the corner of his mouth. " i did not take you for a pessimist, mr. malcolm. surely things are not so dire as all that... " there was a friendly gleam in his eye - a show that his tease was good-natured. after all, he was grateful to the other man. dwight knew hardly a soul in edinburgh beyond an old school friend - and he was often busy with his own affairs. but the rapport he'd built with the scot had allowed him to see something of the city - and to gain a new companion in the process... one whose luck at the card table was, apparently, not much better than his own... in fact, he thought dryly, the whole evening was serving to remind him how little he enjoyed cards in the first place...