I was massaging his shoulders again, naked, standing close enough that my breasts and stomach were brushing against his back.

      “Ri-pālle, I’m trying to finish grading,” Jamie said.  He paused, and then I could feel his muscles tense under my hands.  “When we made love,” he said hesitantly, “and I…touched ye while I was inside, I thought…well the noises ye made…and what I felt, I thought you…”

      “Oh…yeah, I had an orgasm,” I assured him.

      “But…ye arna satisfied?” He paused, but he didn’t turn to look at me.

      “Sexually, yes.  Emotionally, no,” I admitted honestly.  “Jamie, I was one decision away from losing you forever.  Just yesterday. Will you come back to bed and hold me?  Are these tests that important?”

      “No more important than my wife,” Jamie said, reaching back, grabbing me around the waist, pulling me next to him, and quickly nipping at my breast.  “But the kids were very worried about their science test grades, and I promised them I’d have them graded before tomorrow. You would have me be a man of my word, would ye not?”

      “Definitely,” I said, with a sigh of resignation.  He was right, of course.  The things that made me love him were also the things that obligated him to others as well.  I wrinkled my forehead in thought.  “Is there any part I could grade for you?  I’m happy to help if it means I can have your attention back sooner.”

     Jamie smiled at me, an endearing lopsided grin.  “Aye,” he said.  “But will ye put something on?  I canna focus wi’ yer naked body so close.” Obligingly I found the tank top and shorts next to the bed where Jamie had flung them an hour previously after removing them in just the way he’d promised.  When I stood back up after bending to retrieve them, though, Jamie looked away quickly, his face flushing.

      “You know, you can look at me,” I said.  “I’m your wife.  This…” I indicated my body, “is yours to enjoy.”

      “Aye?” Jamie said, directing his gaze back at me.

      “Definitely!” I said. “It makes me feel beautiful to know you want me.”

      “That I do,” Jamie said, his voice dropping nearly an octave as he cocked his head to the side, staring at me as I pulled my shorts up. “Hmm,” he said, eyes twinkling.  “Why don’t ye stop wi’ just that.  Once we’re done, I will come back to bed wi’ ye, but I canna promise it will be just to hold ye.”

      “Whew!” I fanned myself, looking away.  “Is it hot in here?”

      “Actually, it is,” Jamie said, grinning, “But I dinna think that’s what ye meant.”

      I sat down at the table, and Jamie handed me a small stack of papers and a red pen.  Riti Botla’s name was at the top of the first test.

      “She got a hundred percent,” Jamie said, with a fond smile.  “Use her work as the master key to grade the other students’ matching sections.”

      “Can I use purple pen?” I asked, looking with distaste at the red one.  “It’s just a friendlier color.”

      “D’ye want yer husband to get teased more than he already is by his students?”

      “Do you get teased on a regular basis?” I asked, wondering what his students would tease him about.

      “Aye,”  he said, “And it’s all your fault.  The boys tease me by asking me if I touch your body and kōmmon nana wi’ ye; the girls tease me by asking me when I’m going to have a baby wi’ ye, and they all tease me any time I accidentally get distracted by thoughts of ye; which, sadly, happens more than I care to confess.”

     I leaned my chin on my hand and stared adoringly at Jamie.  “Dammit, I have such a crush on you,” I said.

      “Do ye now?” Jamie asked, looking adorably pleased at the thought.  But then his eyebrows furrowed pensively.  “But you love me too, don’t ye?”

      “Yes,” I said earnestly.  “That’s why I’m here.  And there are things I want to say to you, things that I realized as I talked to Frank about my decision, things that you need to hear.  But, I really want it to be distraction free, so let’s finish this up first.”  Jamie nodded, and we turned to the pages in front of us.

     As I began to grade, I realized that the sheets looked handwritten, and the ink was blue.  “You don’t have electricity,” I said.  “How did you make copies?”

      “Have ye heard of a mimeograph?” Jamie asked.

      “I might have heard the word,” I answered, shaking my head, “but I don’t know what it is.”

      “It’s a machine, run by crank, that creates copies of documents when ye dinna have electricity.”

      “How does it work?”  I asked, as I moved on to the next test.

      “Well, ye use special paper and write really hard to create a carbon copy.  It makes a mirror image of the writing, so it’s backwards.  Then you use the mimeograph machine, tucking your original into an slot on a large metal barrel and using a special solvent that allows the blue writing to be imprinted on paper.  Then ye crank, once for each copy, and it will make a good number of copies, up to 50, I think.”

      “Neat,” I said.  “I hadn’t really thought about the lack of computers, and Ipads, and printers and copiers out here.  It probably makes it a little harder to teach.”

      “I dinna think so, actually,” said Jamie, shaking his head.  “Wi’ out those things to distract the children, they actually find us teachers very amusing, and they enjoy school.  And here in the islands, education is respected, and teachers are revered around here.”

      “But still teased?” I said, stretching my back while his eyes were on me.  I tried to look nonchalant, but the stretch wasn’t only for my benefit.

      “Aye,” said Jamie.  “Still teased.” He looked at me hungrily.  “Perhaps we should work more and talk less, lass.  I’m beginning to feel a little hot myself.”

     I finished grading, but Jamie still had a few short answer questions to read over.  I used his calculator to total points and figure percentages, but finally I had done everything I could.

     I sighed deeply, and caught Jamie eyeing me.  “Ye arna very patient, wee one,” he said.  “So I’m going to give ye an assignment.”

      “Now, what would that be?” I asked curiously.

      “I confessed the dark desires I had for ye before we married,” he said.  “Now it’s going to be your turn.” 

      “Is it?” I asked, eyebrows raised. 

      “Aye,” he affirmed.  “Get to work.  Think it over.  Make a plan, and take care of anything ye need to get it ready.”  He chuckled.  “Or to get yerself ready.”

     If Jamie had first thought of making love to me when he first walked me home and held me, my first lustful thought about him was when he hung out with me on laundry day.  When the storm came, after pulling the laundry off the line I stayed in the yard and danced in the rain.  Then, soaking wet to the skin, I joined him under the awning.   The two of us huddled there and he put his arm around me as I shivered, apparently not caring that I was getting him wet.  He looked at my lips, and I wanted him to kiss me, or more.

     Watching my face as I was thinking, Jamie smiled broadly.  “Oh,” he said.  “I’ve a feeling this is going to be good.” 

      “But I haven’t said a word,” I said. 

      “Your face told me plenty!” Jamie turned back to his grading with a new intensity, as I went and started a pot of water boiling, then searched through the closet for my clingiest sundress.

     How am I going to do this?  I wondered.  I didn’t want to attract attention by being inappropriate outside, but I thought that’s at least where we should begin.  When it appeared that Jamie was on his last test, I took the pot outside to the shower.

     Jamie looked up as I was leaving.  “Am I joining ye?” he asked. 

      “No.  Just wait.  I’ll let you know when it’s your turn to enter the scene.”

     I felt a little ridiculous and not a little horny as I changed into the sundress, sans underwear, then poured warm water over myself.  The dress clung to my curves, my hair hung down in droopy ringlets, and I was soaking wet.  I stood in the shower for a minute, letting the excess water drip off, then shook my head, rolled my eyes, walked to our door, and knocked, standing there dripping.

     Jamie came to the door.  When he saw me, he almost gasped.  I could tell from the instant softening of his expression that it meant something to him that I’d chosen this moment.

      “Your face just said something,” I said to him.  “Can you tell me what you were thinking?”

     He looked down bashfully.  “I thought…That day I thought you might feel something for me.  But then I talked myself out of it.  It made me doubt myself.  Made me think I was a fool, reading something in yer eyes that wasna there.”

     I pulled Jamie down to me and kissed him on the lips.  “I was ashamed of it, then, because I felt like I was cheating on Frank emotionally.  But let’s not focus on that.  Quick, put your arm around me, and then let’s go inside.”

      “Just a minute,” Jamie said.  He looked down at my body, his gaze focusing on two particular points.  “Mmm,” he grunted appreciatively.  “I remember that afternoon quite vividly.  But I think ye’ve cheated a little.  I think ye were wearing a bra that day.  Ye arena wearing one now.”

      “But I’m wet like I was that day,” I said. 

      “Itok, Ripālle, and we’ll see if ye are or if ye aren’t,” Jamie replied, guiding me inside, his arm around my shoulders.

     As we came inside, Jamie turned off the lights and pressed me against the door with his body, kissing me as he gathered up my dress with both hands.  The dress warred against him, attempting to stay fused to my wet skin.

      “Just a minute, Jamie,” I said, pushing on his chest.  “I’m engaged.  So we can’t actually have sex.  Are you okay with that?”

     He pulled away briefly, looking down at me.  It took a second for him to register that I was playing Claire back then instead of myself, but then he got an impish grin.

      “Aye,” he said.  “Then, we should slow this thing down.”  With that, he knelt in front of me, and put his hands on my hips, while I rested my arms on his shoulders.  “Claire, you’re like a Silke,” he said, looking at me, running his fingers through strands of my still-dripping hair.   “All shiny and wet, like ye just came out of the sea.  Are ye ‘eternally lustful’ like the Silkes? Because I think I’ve already lost my heart to ye.  If ye leave me, I ken I would be lovesick forever.”

      “When I’m around you, yes, Jamie, I am filled with lust.” I responded.  He leaned down slightly and took my nipple in his mouth, biting just enough to make me squirm, then sucking until I could hear the sound of the water flowing through the fabric.  He gripped me tighter, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of my hips and hindquarters.

     He put his mouth on my other breast and groaned.  “A Dhia, Ripālle, I want to see ye naked.  But my da said a good policy to keep yer virginity is to never be naked together.”

      “But I can’t keep these wet clothes on,” I said innocently.  “I need to change.”

     Married Jamie grinned as he sorted through the possible responses Virgin Jamie might have had, and then slowly stood up.  “Aye.  Ye should change.  I will turn my back and give ye privacy.”

     I went to my dresser and pulled out a peach satin chemise.  So far, we’d pretty much gone the route of clothing straight to naked when we had sex, and I hadn’t bothered much with lingerie.  I turned to see if Jamie was peeking, which I completely expected, but he had his back to me, chin up, looking away from me.

      “Okay,” I said, once the chemise had fallen over my body.  Jamie turned, and his eyes widened.

      “God, Claire,” he said, “Just when I dinna think ye could be any more beautiful, there ye are.”  He stood and stared at me.  “I dinna feel like I’m worthy to touch ye.”

      “Are you acting right now, or serious?” I asked.

      “So serious,” he said.  He stepped forward and took me in his arms.  He rocked me, back and forth, one hand at the back of my head, the other one around my back. 

     I looked up at him.  “I don’t want to pretend anymore,” I said.  “This is real, and my feelings for you are real, and I want to make love to you, so that you don’t wonder whether what you’re feeling is really me.”

     Jamie stroked my back and my hair, continuing to weave back and forth as he held me.  It was curious, but my desire started to ease away.  Instead, I just felt peace.

      “I’d like to hear what it is you wanted to say to me, Claire,” Jamie said.

      “Like this?”  I asked.  “Not lying down in bed?”

      “Like this,” he said.  “What did you tell Frank that ye havena told me?”

      “I told him that you are my soul mate, that with you…”

      “Not like that,” Jamie said.  “Talk to me, not to Frank.” 

      I suddenly felt vulnerable, as I looked up into his piercing blue eyes, darkened by dilated pupils.

      “Jamie,” I said.  “I don’t know if you believe in soul mates, but I have never felt this way about anyone.  I’m so comfortable in your presence, and yet you wake my body like no one ever has.  I’ve never been so satisfied being with a person, and yet ached so badly when we’re apart.”

      “I’ve been accused of being needy—by boyfriends who felt like I asked for too much affection from them.  But with you I feel satiated and full. Jamie, I love you.“

     Jamie’s eyes were moist as he pulled me to him and kissed me on the forehead, wrapping his arms around me again.  He sighed, his muscular chest and abdomen expanding, pressing against me.  He started crooning in Gaelic into my hair.

      “Mo chridhe…oh, Claire,” he said.  “I’ve been so afraid.  That I love you more than you could ever love me; that I want you more than you could ever want me.  Do you know how much it means to hear ye say all this, Ripālle?”

      Wordlessly I hugged him in answer.

       “This may sound strange, Claire, but I want to not make love to you,” Jamie said slowly, as if in disbelief at his own words.  “What we have isna just about sex, Ripālle.  Because love will last even when we’re too old and feeble to make love to each other anymore.  Tonight I just want to fall asleep with you close to me.”

     We turned off the lights, climbed into bed, and I fell asleep to the steady sound of Jamie’s beautiful heart.

On to Chapter 37 : Snorkelbathing What do you do to combat the farmiest of farmers’ tans?

Chapter Notes: On Arno, we had to use a mimeograph machine to make copies for teaching.  I got so used to using it, that when I thought about coming back to the States, I wondered what I would do without it.  How would I make copies of worksheets for my students?  Ummm, copy machines, maybe?

     He stood behind me, reaching his hands around my rib cage to cup my breasts, and kissing me firmly on the shoulder.

     You’re a goober,” I said, “And that’s half the reason I love you.  Well?  Are you going to spend some time exploring your territory?”  I raised my eyebrows at him and reached up to unhook my bra.

     Yes,” he said, picking me up and carrying me to our bed.  “Though I have a feeling there’s not much I havena explored already numerous times.”

     I swatted at him irritably.

      “I didna say I was bored of it,” Jamie defended himself.  “Or that every time isna just as amazing and breathtaking as the first time.”

     I was glaring at him when he sat down on the bed, holding me.  “Dinna look at me like that, Claire,” he said.  “Ye ken I was absolutely serious when I made that vow, putting my ring on your hand.”

      “Which vow?” I asked.  He turned, and laid me back on the pillows.

      “Wi’ my body, I thee worship.  Because I do.  And I will always.”  He punctuated the phrase by climbing over me and kissing me on abdomen, breast, and neck, then gently lowering his body onto me, resting on his elbows, and looking at my face curiously.  “Ye liked that?” he asked.  “What I just said?”

     I wasn’t anywhere as big as him, but Jamie instinctively obeyed my body’s directives as I urged him to roll us over so that I was on top.  I started to cover his neck and chest in a flurry of kisses, but also found my eyes filling with tears.  Jamie grabbed my wrists and stopped me. 

      “I want to hear it,” he said.  “What is it?”

      “That’s always been my favorite vow,” I said, as he released one hand to reach up and wipe my cheek.  “I mean, in sickness and in health is nice, richer or poorer, ‘til death do us part.  But something about ‘With my body, I thee worship’ gets me every time.”

     Jamie’s face softened, but his body was responding completely the opposite.  He could have made love to me right then, but I was overcome with a feeling of generosity, scooting down the bed until I was between his legs, then lowering my torso until I could  envelop him with my mouth.

      “Oh my God, Claire…”

     If I had any doubts about how he felt about what I was doing for him, the sounds it drew from him made it quite clear.

      “You’re a magician,” he said, wide-eyed, several minutes later as I flopped back on the bed, tucked next to him with his arm around me.  “I’ll have to remember that phrase, if it makes ye that grateful and generous.”

      “How grateful and generous are you feeling?” I asked teasingly. 

      “You have no idea,” he said, exchanging positions with me.  “But allow me to demonstrate what I mean when I say ‘with my body I thee worship’.”

      Jamie headed off to school with a kiss and a hug, and the reminder that today he needed to stay at school for lunch.  It was Thursday, and for some reason I had the strange feeling that I was forgetting something.  But it wasn’t a regular clinic day, Sharbella had morning sickness again, and when I went to the clinic at 9, there was no one waiting for me.  I decided to see some families for home visits while I had the opportunity.

     I meandered toward Matolen, passing Najor’s house with some sadness, thinking of little Maxson.  On the edge of their property, I saw a wheelbarrow, probably the same one Najor had always used as a stroller for her son.  I waved at Karla, who was heading into their cookhouse.  “Iiokwe!” I said, and she responded in kind.

     As I walked a little farther, I came to a neat little property on the iar side.  The house was a bright blue, simple and boxy.  In the yard, one of the local mamas, Adina, sat on a mat with her two children close to her.  I remembered seeing the little girl around.  I think her name was Lolly, and I think the boy’s name was Lakatu, which means “handsome.”  He was one of the little people who suffered from boils on his scalp, but despite the small scars, the kids were adorable, and when I smiled and waved, Adina said, “Itok, Miss Peachay.”

     I came and squatted by her, but she scooted over on her mat to make a place for me.  She was weaving a beautiful decorative mat, made of small cowry shells, pandanus leaves, and thin strips of something that looked like raffia.

      “What are you making?” I asked, then tried my Marshallese to say the same thing. “Te ao komman?

     Adina smiled and corrected me.  I watched with interest as she wrapped the paper-like raffia around the pandanus fronds, threaded it through a cowry shell, and then continued.  I pulled out my Majel cheat sheet and asked her about the kids.  Were they sleeping well?  Eating well?  Was washing Lakatu’s face and hair at night helping avoid more boils? Adina answered, and I scribbled down a few notes in my notebook, gave her a bar of soap and a pair of fingernail clippers from my bag, and then just sat, watching.

     After a while, she asked me, “Ta ṇe ear kabbōj eok?”   

      “Jolok bōd.  Ij jab malele.  I’m sorry.  I don’t understand,’ I responded.  She pointed at my stomach, so I wondered whether she was asking why I didn’t have kids of my own.  But by gesticulating and grabbing her own hips and belly, I finally realized she was asking me why I was so skinny.

“Kilep emmon,” Adina said. (It’s good to be big, I mentally translated.  “Inana aidik,” (It’s bad to be skinny).  Jamie had explained to me that in Majel culture, a little extra fat was a sign of wealth.  Men didn’t tend to be very big, as they did a lot of the physical labor and stayed quite active.  But once a woman had children, it was normal for her to fill out and have heftier curves.

“Ijab enañinmej,” I told her.  “I’m not sick.  Bwe ñan ṃōñā. (Bway ngon MUNG aye) I have plenty to eat.”

“Aet,” she smiled and nodded.  “Meester Shamie.”  Somehow just the mention of my husband was enough to reassure her that I was being taken care of and had adequate food. 

     I tried out more of my Marshallese on her, making Adina giggle effusively at my horrible pronunciation.  After a little bit, Adina got up of her mat and motioned for me to follow her.  “Itok,” she said, “Itōm ṃōñā.” (EE tom MUNG aye--Come and eat).  Despite Adina’s acceptance that I was being fed adequately, she didn’t see any harm in loading me up with additional calories.  She brought out some cold coconut rice and a can of tuna, and she, the kids, and I ate with our hands and laughed together. 

     Of course, partway through the visit, I made the mistake of remarking on how nice the mat was that she was making.  Before I left, she pressed a smaller version of the mat into my hands, about the size of a coaster—a little spiral of pandanus fronds with a ring of cowries around the outside.  I thanked her repeatedly, and then headed along to make a few more stops before turning back toward the clinic and house.

     At some point on my walk, I had what I thought was a fabulous idea.  There was no place on the island to escape from people.  It was as if the local children had a homing device that led them to anyone who wanted to be alone.  But there was one place I could strip down to a swimsuit and not worry about being seen—the iar!  If I went snorkeling, and removed my dress or shorts when I was out in the water, I could swim while the sun hit my back, and maybe I might even be able to float on my back long enough to do a little tanning for my front.  I’d quickly discovered that 15 minutes in direct sun without sunscreen was about all I needed to get a little bit of a pink glow that would darken into tan. I felt like a genius.

     When I got home around one, there was still no one waiting for me.  I drew water from the well to water my garden, where I ecstatically noted you could see little sprouts beginning to come up.  With one last check of the clinic, I wrote a little note—“Miss Peach etal iar.”

     I pulled on a bikini, then a sundress, hooking Jamie’s fish stringer to my bikini bottoms.  I grabbed my snorkel, mask, and fins, and headed out to the iar.  I even took along one of the fishing spears, thinking I might be able to catch dinner while I was at it.

     It truly felt like progress to be going snorkeling by myself, after the first time when I had clung desperately to Jamie’s hand.  This time, I quickly adjusted to the sparkly clicking sound, which Rupert had informed me was caused by some kind of coral shrimp scraping the coral, which sounded so close because water is a better conductor of sound than air.

     I looked around as I got farther away from shore.  Probably a mile or two away toward Arno Arno there was a boat being used by fishermen, but other than that I didn’t have any company at all.

     It was slightly complicated to pull off the sundress and then knot it to the fish stringer, but after that I put my mask and snorkel back on, making sure to twist my hair up in a knot so it wouldn’t cover my back, and then I swam around, trying to see if I could find any good coral outcroppings where I could catch some fish.  After about 15 minutes on my stomach, I tried to float on my back.  It was a much more complicated proposition, and wearing my mask would have been useful in keeping water out of my nose, but I didn’t want to have a weird mask tan.

     When I had reached my limit of back-floating, I turned back onto my stomach and did a little bit of spear fishing.  I certainly hadn’t gone a lot of times since the boys first took me, but my skills had definitely improved.  I chose my fish better, which resulted in fewer mangled specimens, and I was better at aiming, which meant a higher rate of success.  In another ten minutes, I’d speared seven really nice fish, hooked them onto the stringer through their gills, and then, putting my sundress back on, I headed back to our house.

     By the time I was home, it was getting close to three.  Salt water never felt good left on the skin, so I put the fish in a bucket of cool water, and took a cool shower, not bothering with boiling water. 

     I was quite proud of myself for catching dinner.  Now all I needed to do was get the coconut and we could have a traditional Marshallese meal.  I could also feel the glow of the absorbed sunshine on my back, and even on the fronts of my white thighs.  Whether or not Jamie loved my farmers’ tan, I actually had found a way to get rid of it!

     I scouted the yard, found a fallen mature coconut, and headed next door to Maria’s house with a bowl and the coconut.  Husking the coconut was far more challenging than Jamie or Maria made it look, but after several (okay, numerous) attempts, I finally got the coconut spike to pierce the husk, and I wrestled with it until I pulled the first chunk of husk away.  After that it got easier and easier, until I had a dark round coconut left, with just a few strands of husk attached. 

     The final step, of course, was to split the coconut.  I thought I probably should put the coconut on the ground to hit it with the machete, but I’d cut avocadoes in half in my hand for about forever, using a knife to pierce the seed, rotate, and then remove it.  So I grabbed the coconut in my left hand, grabbed the machete in the other, and with a deliberate hack, I hit the coconut.  Nothing happened.  I rotated the coconut in my hand, and tried again.  Again, nothing.  Finally, in frustration, I put the coconut on a flat rock, and swung at it with more force.  The coconut split, the machete glanced off the rock I’d set the coconut on, and in one slow, sickening moment, the rusty blade hit me on the left shin. 

      “Are you kidding me?” I exclaimed.  I dropped the machete, and limped away from Maria’s house, blood streaming down my leg. I wasn’t sad or hurting; I felt angrier than anything.  After being so proud of myself for solving my sun tanning problem, after catching dinner, and singlehandedly opening my coconut for rice, to injure myself made me furious. 

     The clinic door was thankfully unlocked. I grabbed a roll of gauze and a non-stick sterile pad, wrapping my leg tightly to see if I could staunch the blood flow to better inspect the wound.  The pain had taken a while to build up, but I definitely felt it now.

      “Bugger, bugger, bugger, bugger! Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!” I chanted as I got out my suture kit, numbing pad, and lidocaine syringe. “Damn, damn, damn!” I grab the pot of water and put it on the stove, then moved one of the chairs next to the examination table. It was going to be a bit of a stretch to have my leg up on the table and try to lean forward to give myself stitches to keep the edges of the wound together.

     A little knock on the door made me cringe, until I saw the curly red hair peeking through the screens at me.  “Are ye wi’ anyone?” Jamie asked.

      “No, it’s just me,” I said.  When he entered, he grinned at me.  Quickly assessing the situation, though: the blood on the floor, me on the chair by the exam table, my shin covered with a bloody gauze, and suddenly Jamie’s face looked very white. 

      “What happened?” he said, kindly patting my hip after coming to sit on the floor by my chair where my wound was out of sight.

      “Machete,” I explained simply.  “I was just getting ready to make coconut rice for dinner.  And I was     so proud of myself, too.  It’s really a bummer.”

     The tea kettle started steaming.

      “Can you help me, Jamie?” I asked.  “I need one of those basins, and I need you to fill the tea kettle the rest of the way with cold water.  I want to make sure this is clean before I stitch it up.”

     Given a task to do, Jamie seemed to overcome his squeamishness.  He poured the water over my leg as I held it over the basin, and I was relieved to see that despite the profuse amount of blood, the cut was only going to take four stitches to close.  When the time came for me to do the suturing, Jamie had to turn away, though, and he seemed very relieved once it was done and I was bandaged up.  He locked up the clinic for me, and helped me hobble back to our house.

     Once I was settled comfortably on the bed, Jamie proceeded to bring me water and prop up my leg with some pillows.  “So, Rupert and Angus have invited us to come to dinner tonight,” he said.  “You can rest for a couple of hours, and then we can head over there.”

      “Oh, I don’t think I really want to go,” I responded.  “Can we schedule dinner for another day?”

     Jamie looked strangely perturbed.  “We canna refuse the invitation of friends.”

      “If they’re friends,” I argued, “They’ll realize I nearly cut my leg off, and they’ll let us take a raincheck.”

      “Four stitches, Claire,” he said.  “I had eighteen, and I walked you home that night.”

      “Well, you were in love with me.  I’m not in love with Rupert and Angus. They’ll be fine with having us over another night.  Or just go by yourself.  It might be nice to have a little time with your buddies, and I might like some alone time, too.”

      “Dammit, Ripalle,” Jamie scolded. “Dinna be so selfish.  They’ve already gone to the effort to prepare a meal for us.  We’re going to Angus and Rupert’s and that’s final.”

     I stared at Jamie.  There was an odd air of desperation on his face.  I started to think that maybe he wasn’t ordering me just to be overbearing.  At the same time, I could see him visibly processing how things seemed to be going.

      “There’s a reason I want you to come, Claire.  Are ye afraid it will hurt your leg?  What if I carry you in a wagon or a wheelbarrow?  Or give you a piggy back ride?”

      “Don’t be ridiculous,” I said.  “I can make it to dinner just fine.  But I realized I haven’t taken anything.  Can you grab the acetaminophen bottle from the top of the dresser?  Maybe if I take a couple and rest for a little while, I’ll feel better by the time we head over.”

      “And we could just plan to stay the night,” Jamie suggested offhandedly, “So we wouldn’t have to walk back home in the dark.”

     I raised my eyebrows skeptically.  “Do you really think Angus and Rupert would be okay with us staying in their house for a night?”

      “Only if I promise on my honor not to have sex wi’ ye…” Jamie said, then added with a cheesy grin, “And I wouldna.  At least not very noisily…Though I canna make any promises about your volume.”

      “I only make a normal amount of noise during sex,” I said, frowning. 

      “If so,” Jamie said, “It would be very educational to discover what a ‘large amount’ sounds like.”

     The nap helped, as did the Tylenol, and by five o’clock, I felt ready to head out.  Jamie grabbed night clothes for me, and clothing for both of us for the next day, while I remained enthroned on the bed like an invalid. 

     And as we set out toward the school, I felt extremely curious about what awaited us.  

                          On to Chapter 3 : Hashtag Blessed The Scots make an effort to be culturally thoughtful for their American friend.

Chapter Notes:   My two co-teachers and I invented snorkelbathing to combat the massive farmers’ tans we were getting on the island.  We had tried slipping off to the beach somewhere between Ine and Matolen, but every time we peeled off our sundresses and lay down on our towels, like magic the local children would arrive, and at the sound of happy little voices approaching, we had to pull our dresses back on.

      “I just can’t get the grammar straight,” I laughed.  “What American?”  I asked, turning back to the little girl. “Won en ej atok?”

      “A man,” she said.  “He look for Claire Beauchamp,” she said, enunciating all the sounds.  “That you, Miss Peachay, right?”

      “Who is he?” I asked.  “E metak?  Is he hurt?”

      “No, he no hurt.  He say him name Prank.”

      “Prank?” 

      “She can’t mean Frank, can she, Ripālle?”

     I felt like I’d been punched in the gut, like I was going to vomit; nauseated and terrified and guilty.  “Frank is here?  Why is Frank here?”

     I looked out in the road, and I saw him, walking with his familiar lanky stride, looking around curiously. He appeared to be in no huge rush, but he saw me, and he lifted up his hand in a wave, a wide smile brightening his face.

     Jamie had come over and was standing behind me.  He put his hands on my shoulders.

      “Oh, my God, Jamie,” I said.  “Stay here.”

     I descended the three steps and walked toward Frank as quickly as I could. He didn’t have a suitcase with him. He was wearing a hat, loafers, shorts, and a tropical print shirt. What a ripālle, I thought with a chuckle, and then I felt sick again.

      “Claire!” Frank exclaimed, rushing to me.  He put his arms around me and bent to kiss me; I turned my cheek to him.

      “Why are you here, Frank?” I asked, though I already knew why.

      “Claire,” he said, holding me about the waist.  “I am so sorry. I was such an asshole.”

     I couldn’t think of anything to say, so I stood there dumbly, my heart pounding.  Back in the house behind me was my husband of 12 days; in front of me my fiancé of 5 years. Well, ex-fiancé.  No matter what happened, this was not going to end pretty.

      “It was a shitty thing to do, breaking our engagement.  I’m so sorry.” He suddenly looked worried, as if perhaps I didn’t even know why he was there.

      “Oh, yeah, I got your break-up letter,” I said. “And I’m assuming the reason you’re here, having travelled thousands of miles, is that you got my letter?”

      “Claire,” he said.  I looked into his repentant, familiar eyes, and my heart broke.  “When I got your letter, I realized I couldn’t wait for another letter to get to you, and then for your response to get back to me.  I needed to talk to you.  I needed to see you.”

      “Frank, I love you,” I said.  “And I have loved you for years, but…”

      “Babe,” he said earnestly, “if you were serious in your letter, and I think you were…” He took my hand. “I’m here to ask you two questions.”

     I started shaking my head, whether in disbelief or to try to stop what was coming next.  I turned toward the apartment, and Frank walked with me.

      “Will you please come home?” he asked, reaching to take my hand as we walked side by side.  “Life just isn’t right without you.”  He pulled us to a stop, turned to me, and looked in my eyes, “And will you please let me finally exchange your engagement ring,” he lifted my hand, kissing my fingers, “for a wedding ring?” 

     How did he not notice the horrified expression on my face?  “It’s too late, Frank,” I said.

      “How can it be too late, Claire?”  Frank responded, clasping my hand to his chest.  “I’ve never known you to hold a grudge before.  In your letter, you said you recognized how wrong this choice had been—that it was cruel and selfish to leave me.  How is it too late?”

     I shook my head.  I was trembling.  “You’re too late,” I repeated, gesturing up at the door of our apartment, where Jamie stood, arms crossed over his muscular chest like a red-haired bouncer at a tiki bar.

      “Who the hell is that?” asked Frank.

      “That’s…Jamie,” I said, in a tone that said of course Frank should know who he was.

      “Who the hell is Jamie?” Frank asked, looking up at Jamie, shirtless, sarong-clad.  Realization started to flush over his face.  He looked at me, then back at Jamie.

     Now Frank looked as horrified as I was feeling. “Damn, Beauchamp, you can’t keep it in your pants, can you?”

      “You will not talk to my wife like that,” said Jamie, taking a step down the stairs, his eyes glinting blue and angry.

     Frank stared at Jamie, open-mouthed.  “You are fucking kidding me.  Tell me he’s kidding me.” He turned to me again, eyes wide.  “You got married?” I stood there dumbly, still astonished that he was on Arno, that he was next to me.

      “When?  When did you get married?”

      “You broke up with me, Frank,” I started.

      “When did you get married?” he repeated, desperation creeping into his voice.

      “A week and a half ago,” I said. 

      “You just wrote me, Claire.  I just got a letter from you five days ago where you asked me to forgive you and you told me that I was the most important thing in the world to you.  I found someone to teach my courses, made plane and hotel reservations, and headed out here. Explain yourself, please.”  Frank’s jaw clenched, and a blood vessel in his temple was visibly throbbing.

     I couldn’t think clearly, but I tried to get some words out.  “Almost two weeks ago I sent that letter in the morning; your break-up letter came that evening. I was devastated, but your choice was clear.  I didn’t have any reason to believe you would change your mind.”

      “That still doesn’t explain it,” Frank insisted.  “I still don’t understand it.  I broke up with you, and you got MARRIED?  I broke up with you, and days later you get fucking married?”  He was shaking his head in astonishment, staring at me with disgust.

      “It’s not that simple, Frank,” I said.

      “No?  It could have been way simpler, Claire.  Couldn’t you just suck his dick or let him fuck you without having to marry him?”  The words had barely gotten out of Frank’s mouth when a ruddy blur passed me on my left and Frank was on his back on the ground, Jamie shaking his hand in pain, standing beside me.

      “I said,” he intoned fiercely, towering over Frank, “Ye canna talk to my wife like that.”

      “You bastard,” said Frank, pushing himself to a seated position and wiping blood from his nose.  “She’s only been here for weeks.  She and I have been together for years.  You have nothing in comparison to what we had.  You’re taking advantage of a woman who’s suffering from culture shock.”

      “Seems to me, yer the one taking advantage of the woman,” Jamie said sternly.  “Keeping her hanging on, not marrying her, year after year.  A woman deserves stability and commitment.  You werena willing to provide it for her.  I am.”

      “I’m right here, dammit!” I exclaimed. 

     Frank was working on standing up.  Jamie offered him his hand, and Frank warily grabbed it, stood, took two steps back, and then said, “Would it be possible to talk to you, Claire, without this ginger giant punching me in the face?”

      “I just helped ye up, man,” said Jamie, scoffing.  “I’m no a monster. If you can keep yerself civil, ye needna worry about any more violence.”  He looked at me.  “Do ye want me to stay, Claire, or would you like me to give the two of ye a chance to talk?”

      “Thanks, Jamie,” I said.  “I think it would probably be better if you weren’t here.”

      “Do ye want the apartment?”  Jamie asked.  “I can go visit Angus and Rupert.  Or catch fish for supper.”

      “Supper,” I said, thankful for his forethought.  I turned to Frank excitedly.  “The fish here is the best stuff ever.  Better than any seafood restaurant you’ve ever been to.” 

     I realized how quickly my sense of familiarity towards him had come back, but Frank did not look equally warm and welcoming.

      “I don’t want to visit you in the apartment where you’ve been fucking this man,” hissed Frank. 

     “Stop, Frank,” I said.

      “Making love with…her husband,” corrected Jamie, his hand on my back a centering source of calm.  He looked fierce, riled up, and angry, but he was gentle with me even in his fierceness.

      “Please,” I said quietly, urging Jamie back into the apartment. 

      “Husband,” scoffed Frank.  “What do you do to get married out here?  Run around a coconut tree three times and throw some sand over your shoulder?

      “No,” said Jamie, stopping in the doorway and turning back to us, a clear look of confidence and a vindictive glint in his eyes.  “Claire’s parents came over from Guam, and Jeff married us.”  I winced at his words, knowing how much they would wound Frank.  He hadn’t even said, ‘her dad,’ or ‘Major Beauchamp.’

     Frank turned to me.  “The Major married the two of you?  Your mom and he approved?” He was dumbfounded, and stood there, mouth gaping like a fish.  Suddenly a light came on in his eyes.  “You’re pregnant,” he exclaimed.

      “No one gets married just because they get pregnant anymore,” I said.  “And, no.”

     Before he closed the door, Jamie raised his eyebrows at me.  “You okay?” he mouthed.  I nodded.

      “Shall we sit?” I asked.  I would have taken Frank’s hand and led him, but I couldn’t touch him right now.  I walked toward the iar, leading us to the grassy area above the beach.  I tucked up my skirts and sat, leaving a spot for Frank next to me.  He wouldn’t sit, though, and stood staring out at the gorgeous turquoise lagoon.

      “Claire,” he said, closing his eyes, breathing slowly.  “What the fuck?”

     I shook my head.  “Go ahead, Frank, talk,” I said. “I can’t even think right now.”

      “Seven years, Claire. Seven years.”  Frank stared out toward the islands on the other side. “We weren’t married, no, but I was committed. Did it really matter so much to you that we weren’t married, that you run into the arms of this infant?”  He saw the look on my face.  “Sorry.  I’ll try not to be insulting.  What happened?”

      “It wasn’t just that we weren’t married, Frank,” I said. “You broke up with me.” I looked at him, hoping he could read my heart.  “I don’t hate you, but you were cruel.  And those had already been my hardest few days out here, even before I read your letter.  Who was I supposed to run to but Jamie? He was my best friend out here.”

      “But, marry him?” Frank said.  “Did you not still see a chance for us?”

      “Your letter left me in little doubt that you didn’t.”

      “Still,” Frank was shaking his head in bewilderment.  “People don’t get married that fast.  They date. They get to know each other.  They get intimate.”

      “I was going to be fired,” I said, “because I spent the night at Jamie’s house. It went against Peace Corps cultural guidelines, and the head wanted to send me home.”

      “So, I broke up with you, you slept with him, got in trouble for it, and then you married him?”

      “I didn’t sleep with him,” I insisted.  “Whatever you think of him, he’s not like that.”

      “You expect me to believe that some hot young guy like that wouldn’t take advantage of a beautiful woman who needs comfort?”

      “He was a virgin when we got married, Frank,” I stated quietly.

     Frank seemed truly taken aback.  “You had never slept with him and you married him?  So this is like a green card marriage, isn’t it?  You just married him to save yourself.  So, get the damn marriage annulled, and come home and marry me.”  He started walking toward the road and I followed him.

     I was feeling confused.  Seeing Frank was bringing back countless memories of years together.  Vacations, dinners with friends, both of us pursuing our educations, homework at the kitchen table.  Cuddling on the couch, shared secret jokes, making love, arguments, resolutions.  Six New Year’s Eve kisses, six Christmases, four engagement anniversaries, countless times sitting in the bathroom together while we waited three minutes for results.  Shared purchases, shared pictures, musicians we both liked, concerts we’d attended.  I didn’t even know what kind of music Jamie liked.  I felt like I was going to hyperventilate.

      “I need to think,” I said, finally. 

      “Well, I feel like a fool,” said Frank turning back toward me as we reached the white gravel of the road.  “But I’m not leaving until we really talk this through.  I’m going to walk back to the Iroij’s house, where the truck dropped me off.  We will wait for you for an hour, then we’re going to go back to my hotel in Arno Arno.   Come and meet me, pack a bag and you can stay with me if you want. The room has two twin beds. We need to talk about this in a place where I don’t feel like he’s staring at me.”"

     I watched Frank walk away, fell on my knees, and vomited in the grass.

      “Mo ghràidh,” Jamie said.  He was holding me in his arms, running his fingers through my hair. He helped me stand up, and then he lifted me, carried me into our apartment, lay me down on the bed and curled himself behind me, wrapping me in his arms.

     I pulled away, stood up, and peeled off my clothes. “Make love to me please, Jamie,” I begged. “I feel like I’m going to break.”

     Jamie looked pained, though he did unwrap his sarong and pulled it over us as he curled up with me. “Wait just a minute,” he said, as I reached for him.  “What’s in your heart right now? What has he said?  What have you decided?”

      “I can’t talk, Jamie, please,” I said. He understood me then, and gently moved over me, whispering and caressing me, until I urged him inside.  Even then he moved inexorably gently; but slowly both of us started to move with more desperation, as if trying to convince ourselves that we were still together, still okay.  Even when we finished I clung to him, not letting him go.

      “Claire, you’re crying,” Jamie whispered.  “What do your tears mean?”

      “I don’t know,” I sobbed.

      “I think yer tears are saying ye feel guilty and torn.   You’re afraid that yer going to hurt one of us or the other.  Ye canna base yer choice on not wanting to hurt anyone.   It’s impossible. And Frank’s right, ye ken.  He has a far greater claim on you.  Ye might actually be married in the eyes of God.  Here, too,” he said, with a faint hand gesture indicating the island. “Common law marriage is accepted, expected even.  Sometimes young couples don’t get married until they have a child.”

      “But, Jamie,” I protested.  “We have something special together. How can you say I should even consider leaving you, losing this?”

      “It’s a kind of affair,” said Jamie.  “Affairs often feel good.  And ours is a hallowed, blessed, married affair, but an affair nonetheless.  I confess I wanted ye.  So bad I was blind to the truth that it might not truly be over with Frank.  So selfish I would keep ye here; tie ye down.  I should have sent ye back.  Or at the least,” he smiled wryly, “encouraged ye to take yerself home.  I ken by now yer a woman that willna be ruled by a man.  But perhaps you should have waited, or gone back to Frank—to see what was salvageable.”

      “Maybe,” I said.  “Maybe I should have given it more time. But I didn’t have that time if I wanted to stay here.”

      “Claire,” said Jamie, holding me closer. “Ye have to stop justifying it and truly think—have ye made a mistake?”

      “This is not a mistake, Jamie,” I wept.  “We are not a mistake.  And we’re married, anyway.  That’s a legal contract.”

      “I’ve been thinking, and there is a way out for you,” said Jamie.  “You didna enter this marriage truly thinking we would have children.  And if ye also entered the marriage without the intent of eternal commitment, it can be annulled by the Catholic Church.  The Catholic marriage covenant is taken when both parties enter with the commitment to be together forever, with an openness to creating new life.”

      “Jamie,” I said.  “I don’t…I can’t…”

      “Claire, I need you to go to Arno Arno with Frank.  You need to talk to each other, far enough away from me that ye don’t feel the burden of this place where we connected, and that Frank doesna feel the pressure of my presence.”

      “But…”

      “If you choose me, then come home.  If you decide to go back to the States with Frank, send word.  I will pack up your things and send them to you on Majuro, or to Boston.  Dinna come back.  I canna imagine my heart could stand seeing you again.”

      “But, Jamie,” I interjected.

      “You need to decide with a clear mind, Claire. Now that ye know Frank wants ye still, ye must make the choice knowing both that I love you, and that Frank wants you, too.  And he has the greater claim.”

      “What if I don’t want to?”

     Jamie leveled his gaze at me. “I canna stay married to ye in good conscience if you don’t at least think this through. I dinna want you to resent me in years to come for holding you back.  But Claire, I love you more than anything.  And I vowed to love you forever.”  He closed his eyes, then, and leaned his forehead to mine.  “I dinna want to lose you,” he whispered, “but I love you enough to let you go.”

Chapter Notes:

My current husband (well, my only husband…my husband currently…or just…my husband?…well, as opposed to my TV and book husband, James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser) was my boyfriend at the time of my year overseas. He was great at regularly writing letters to me, and I wrote to him, but at times it felt very frustrating to know that mail would take a week to get to him, and then a week to get back to me. I wouldn’t receive a response to any of my thoughts for two entire weeks, and by the time I did hear back (about something that felt incredibly important at the time), it was just too late.

    To keep myself from discouragement and exhaustion, I knew I needed to distract myself.  I tried to recall the different times I had interacted with Jamie, and how each one had led to falling in love with him.  There was a common thread, as most of them were him being compassionate and ended with him hugging me, holding me, or sleeping with me, so I decided that was ineffective at helping me stay motivated or awake.  I wanted to be home already, in his arms already, and I didn’t want to start crying.

    I thought of singing my favorite songs, but realized that in the silence of the islands, I’d forgotten a lot of them. I did remember Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believing,” from the countless times my dad had played it for us at home, so I sang as much of it as I could. I tried to remember the soundtrack for the Sound of Music, though I did question whether singing was the best of choices. I didn’t want to attract the attention of any wandering drunk men.

    By one in the morning, I was exhausted. I was past the point of wondering whether I was developing blisters on my feet and now wondering if I would be able to keep my toes.  A nagging thought in the back of my mind made me think I might just fall down and die of exhaustion and get eaten by coconut crabs.  Or mosquitoes.  I hadn’t put on bug spray after snorkeling, and they were finding me delicious.  

    But then the moon came up, a slivered crescent of light in the sky.  I could see it slowly moving, and it provided just enough light that I didn’t feel like I was walking in circles.  I could see the pale channels of coral gravel with a grassy divider in between, and I doggedly put one foot in front of the other.  My new mantra was “One more step…one more step…” (during which I could actually walk eight steps).  Occasionally I would close my eyes, but I found myself veering to one side of the road or the other and decided that was ineffective.

    On the outskirts of Ine, I nearly started to cry in relief.  The trees occluded my view of the moon, but there were finally outlines of houses added to the never-ending coconut palms of the previous miles.  Occasionally I would get a glimpse of the iar, silvery slivers of moon reflecting off the ripples of water.  

    And then I heard it.  A low growl, coming from my left.  I figured it was just someone snoring, but then I heard it again.  It was definitely a growl, and it was coming closer.

    I had nothing on me.  I was wearing a dress and sandals.  But I remembered Jamie’s rock story, and I dropped to my knees on the road, scrabbling around to see if I could find a rock.  The growl came again, and out of the shadows slunk the lithe form of a wild dog, his hackles raised, white teeth visible.  He started to move toward me and I drew back my hand, gripping the medium-sized rock I had found.  This dog wasn’t as skittish as the one in Jamie’s story; he kept moving forward. As he came closer, from somewhere deep in my throat came a gutteral, primal sound.  “AAAaaaa!” I screamed, running toward the dog, as I hurled the rock with all my might at his head.  “I am going home to my husband, you beast, and you are not stopping me!”

    I don’t know if I hit him with the rock or terrified him with my voice, but that dog turned tail and ran, and so did I, not caring about the way the rocks jabbed into the bottoms of my feet, the way my blisters stung, and my sweaty legs chafed together.  I was going home…

    The faint solar light was lit on the exterior of the clinic as I stumbled across the yard to our door, up the steps, and tried the door knob.  It was locked, and my key was back in my suitcase in Arno Arno.  I knocked quietly; I didn’t really want to bother Jamie if he was sleeping.  But looking at the curtains through the louvers, I thought I saw a hint of light. The lights were on?  Jamie was up?  I knocked louder.

    I heard a low male voice and the hollow echo of footsteps across the floor, then the rattling sound of the lock being unbolted.  Why was it taking Jamie so damn long?

    The door opened, and there he was. Still wearing the blue sarong, still no shirt.  His eyes were bleary and red, his hair was a mess.  His fingernails were rimmed with white and there was a smudge of flour on his cheekbone.  The bread?  

    He stared at me, then said in shock, “CLAIRE?!!”  He stood there dumbly.

    “Jamie, I’m home,” I said, as if I needed to declare it to myself as much as him.

    “Oh, Claire,” he said, “God, Claire,” he stepped outside and wrapped me in his arms.

    “Jamie,” I whispered into his chest, then lifted my chin to look at him. “I choose you.”

    “Get in here!” he exclaimed, ushering me into the house.  As I came into the light, he laughed at me, looking me up and down.  “Oh, Ripālle, ye look like hell, woman!”

    I’d held it together until then, but dissolved into tears.  It took Jamie a moment to realize that I felt like hell as much as I looked like hell, and the smile disappeared from his face, replaced by a look of compassion.

    “Itōk, Ripālle,” Jamie said, leading me toward the bed.  “C’mere, let me hold you.”  He sat down and pulled me onto his knee, kissing me soundly.  We pressed ourselves together like we hadn’t seen each other for years, kissing as hungrily as if we were starving.  

    Jamie picked me up and rolled us onto the bed, continuing to cover my lips and face with ardent kisses. Then my hip bumped something in the bed, and I picked it up.

    “Ha, Murtagh!” Jamie exclaimed, taking the tape recorder from me and talking to it.  “Ye shneaky wee bastard.  Thought ye’d listen in, did ye?  Talk to ye later, man.”  He almost looked like he was about to cry as he looked at my face, and smilingly said “All is well in my world tonight” before he hit the button on the side of the player.

    It didn’t take long to realize Jamie wasn’t acting like himself, more like a big goofy four-year-old who wanted to touch my body.  When he tried to kiss me again, now that our first fervent greetings were done, I could tell why.

    “Jamie, you reek!  Have you been drinking?” I grimaced, pushing his face away.

    “Aye,” he said.  “Whisky… froMurtagh…” he slurred his words together, and pointed at a bottle of amber colored liquid on the table.  “D’ye wanssum?”

    “No thanks,” I said, pulling myself out of bed and going over to my dresser. I was sweaty and dirty, and I needed something clean to wear before going to bed.  There would be no passionate love-making that night for a number of reasons, among them that I was exhausted, it was past two in the morning, I had blisters on my feet, and my thighs were chafed from walking nine miles in a dress.  And add to that, my husband was totally and completely drunk.

    I grabbed panties, shorts, and a tank top, then went into the kitchen.  Jamie followed me with his eyes; the rest of him didn’t appear to be coordinated enough to stand upright.

    Right then the timer went off, and I pulled two slightly lumpy loaves of bread from the oven.  Bread wasn’t meant to take ten hours from first rise to baking, but I was impressed that Jamie had even tried to get it baked.

    Plugging the sink, I poured some water in.  Peeling my clothes off, I grabbed a washcloth and soap, and hopped up to sit on a hand towel on the counter, sticking my poor sore feet into the sink.  Just being able to wash the dirt off my legs felt good, chilly as the water was.

    At the sight of my naked body, Jamie roused himself, stumbling across the apartment to join me.  “Oh, Claire,” he said, as he leaned on the kitchen counter, watching me.  “Yer so bew-ful.  I just want to touch your body.  B’cause I love you soooo mush… mush.... so much…”

"Drunk Jamie” Picture by @cantrixgrisea.  You’re awesome, Cantrix!

     “Really, now?” I said dryly.  “You do know I came home for you, don’t you?”

    “Aye,” he said.  “I washdrinking because I dinna ken if you would.  I cried a lot today.”

    I had a hard time reining in my laughter. “So is whisky like truth serum for you?” I asked.

    “I dinna want pancakes,” he said, closing his eyes. “Even wi’ serum.”

    “Go to bed, Jamie,” I said, laughing.  “If you talk much more, I’m going to turn around and walk back to Frank.”

    Jamie’s eyes instantly looked five times more sober. He walked over and put his arms around me and his forehead on my shoulder.  “Ye canna leave me now, Claire.  You chose me.”

    As sore and tired as I was, I could see my husband was in much worse emotional condition.  I swiveled my legs and lowered myself off the counter, put Jamie’s arm over my shoulder and my arm around his waist, and helped him back to our bed.

    “S’like when we first met, Ripālle,” he slurred.  “’Cept, I was bleeding, and ye werena naked.”

    I turned, took his face between my hands to kiss him, and then lowered him into the bed.

    “Lie wi’ me, please, Claire,” he said, not letting go of my hand.  “Just until I fall asleep?  I need you in my arms.” He was teary, and it made me misty-eyed in sympathy.  “Today was the worst,” he sighed.  “I love you…I’m so glad you’re back.” Looking at him, I realized bathing was the last thing my sweet husband needed me to do. I turned the apartment lights off and tiptoed back to our bed, lifting the sheet to crawl in.

    “I love you too, baby boy,” I said, curling up in front of Jamie.  He wrapped his arm over me, palmed my breast with a contented grunt, and swiped my hair out of his way so his forehead rested at the nape of my neck, his curls blending with mine.

    I felt him whispering then.  I wasn’t sure if I heard him correctly or not, but I thought I heard him say, “Oh, God, thank you for bringing her back to me.”

      I woke to a touch as soft as a paint brush, Jamie tracing the lines of my face with one finger.  I breathed in deeply and sighed as I exhaled, as Jamie drew my cheek, my eyebrow, the bridge of my nose. I stretched and smiled without opening my eyes, and Jamie touched my lips with his.

    “I’m sorry about last night, mo ghràidh,” Jamie whispered.  His breath was minty, his skin cool, and hair wet.  He’d showered and brushed his teeth.

    The touch continued, a light whisper against my skin…my jaw, down my neck, up the slope of my breast, and a chilly circle traced around my nipple, echoed by the warmer whisper of breath and lips.  I gasped and my body contracted in response to him.

    I opened my eyes to see him beaming down at me.  This morning his eyes were cloudless blue, crinkled at the corners, his mouth a constant smile.

    “Oh, Claire,” he said.  “I dinna ever want ye to leave me again.”

    I could feel myself opening to him, first as an ache of affection in my chest, followed by a growing warmth between my legs.

    “Will ye say it again for me?” he asked, closing his eyes and lowering his lips to mine.

    “Say it?” I asked, confused.  “I love you?”

    “No,” he answered.  “You told me last night, I think, but I was pretty drunk.”

    “Oh!” I said, realizing what he meant.  I raised my hands to his cheeks and looked him in the eyes.  “I choose you, James Fraser.”

    He groaned.  “Oh, Claire, I need ye so bad.  But I’ve got to go teach.  And I think a quickie at lunch won’t be satisfying enough. I promise that this afternoon or evening after school, I will have recovered from my hangover and you’ll have rested enough. I need to spend some time on you.”  The promise in his eyes made me shiver.

     “Please.  Because I need you, too,” I said, pulling him down to me.  “Probably a good idea to delay, but you still may need to be gentle. I walked nine miles yesterday, and my upper thighs are chafed.”

    He got an impish look on his face.  “I’ve got a few minutes before I have to leave, so I can do something about that…Let me start by massaging you with some lotion, then.”

     “So kind of you,” I teased.  “But somehow I have a feeling I wouldn’t let you leave once you got started.”

    I slept almost all day.   Jamie had scribbled “Miss Peach enañinmej,” on the clinic sign before he headed wearily off to school, kissing me soundly before he did.  Hopefully there wouldn’t be any terrible accidents and I could just rest, after the emotional and physical upheaval of the last 24 hours.

    Partway through the day, I heard a knock on my door.  When I pulled myself from bed and opened it, there was my suitcase, with a curt note from Frank saying it would have been nice for me to let him know what I was doing—he was terrified when he woke up and didn’t know where I was.  I shook my head wearily, and went back to bed.

      I had thought Jamie would come home and want to spend time with me immediately after school, but instead, he had brought a stack of tests he needed to grade with him, so he sat down at the kitchen table to try to finish them up.  I had slept the day away, and was feeling stir-crazy and bored, having only achieved one goal—taking a thorough shower.  I stood behind Jamie for a while, rubbing his shoulders, but not managing to distract him, I started wandering around our bed.

    “Do I get to listen to this?” I asked him, pulling the portable tape recorder from where he’d set it on the bedside table the previous night.  “Drunk Jamie could prove to be very interesting.”

    At the look of terror on his face, I teasingly grabbed the tape recorder and ran to the door of the cabin, out to the shower, and locked it with the hook.  Jamie, having been in a sitting position on the heavy wooden bench at our kitchen table, was at a distinct disadvantage.

    “Claire!” Jamie’s voice thundered out through the louvers.  “Ye shouldna hear the awful things I said about ye.”

    “Awful?”  I said. “I was under the impression that you loved me and wanted me to come back…”

    “No, just lustful things.  The things I thought and the way I felt before we were married.”

    “Oh, now I’m even more interested,” I said, pressing rewind so the recorder made a metallic squeaking sound.

    “Claire,” his voice was lower now, pleading.  “Dinna embarrass me, please.  I was drunk…I think I said some things I wouldna want you to hear.”

    “Okay,” I sighed.  I unlocked the door and headed back into the house, handing the recorder to Jamie as I entered.

    “What if I want you to talk a little dirty to me?” I said.  “What if I want to hear those lustful thoughts? What if they make me want you as well?”  I grinned at him.

    “Okay,” he said, one corner of his mouth lifting in a smile.  “Just one.  For now.”

    “And?” I said helpfully.

    “But ye have to play along,” he said.  “So ye need to be wearing a tank top, and no bra, little panties, and tiny shorts.”

    “And what will you be wearing?” I asked.

    “A sarong,” he said, biting his lower lip.  “And a tee shirt.”

    “I think I like where this is going,” I said, as I retrieved the suggested clothing items from my dresser and started to change.  “But no peeking!” Just for jollies, I left off both the bra and the panties.

    “So,” I said.  “I’ll be Claire, who has just newly moved to a tropical island.  She’s lonely, and this guy…let’s call him…

    “James,” said Jamie.  “A really handsome, nice guy, great smile, hot body.”  He grinned.

    “He just walked her home.  And he dropped her off at her house, and he headed back to his, leaving her all alone,” I narrated sadly.

    “But he started thinking, she looked so sad.  She maybe needed a hug.  So he turned around, thinking, she’s going to think I’m stupid.”

    “Really?”  I said. “Oh, Jamie, I didn’t.  It was the sweetest thing!”

    “Oh, I ken,” said Jamie, confidently.  “Because when James knocked on the door, and asked if she needed a hug,”

    “She said yes.  And started crying,” I said, stepping into his arms.

    “He felt her body against him, all those luscious curves.”

    “How did he ever restrain himself?” I lifted my face to Jamie.

    “By the grace o’ God,” Jamie replied with a grin. “But he was toying wi’ God’s grace when he took her into her apartment,” he led me by the hand, “and sat down on her bed.  And took her on his knee.”

    “He was holding a crying woman.  What could he have possibly been thinking?” I asked innocently. Jamie looked shy for a moment, until he realized I was just fishing for more details.

    “Aye,” he chuckled, “What indeed? Just that she had the roundest arse he’d ever seen, and he wanted to put his hands on it.”  With that, Jamie made me squeal by dipping his legs as if to drop me; but he saved me by firmly grasping the part under discussion.  “And what of Claire?  Was she having holy thoughts about her fiancé?” Jamie asked.

    “I don’t think she remembered she had a fiancé right then,” I admitted honestly. “What she did notice, was that James was looking down her shirt.”

    Jamie complied with my directive, grasping the neckline of my tank top and pulling it outward slightly. “Oh, Claire,” he breathed, looking up at me with dilated pupils.  “I dinna ken how much more of this I can stand!”

    “Restraint is sexy, Jamie,” I said, and then squirmed on his lap slightly. “Oh, I remember this part, too.”

    He flushed in embarrassment at the memory and his current state.  “God, I was horrified.  It isna fun to be a man sometimes.  Yer body betrays what’s in yer head and heart, even when you’re trying as hard as ye can to be respectful.”

    “I received your gesture in the spirit it was meant, Jamie,” I said seriously. “You were being so sweet to me.”

    “Can we stop now?  And move on?” Jamie asked, eyeing the bed. “I think we’re both adequately roused.”

    “You need to tell me what you were thinking of doing,” I said.  “Once you’ve confessed, I’ll let you do it.”

    “Now, that’s an odd kind of confession, Ripālle,” Jamie said.  “I’m used to feeling guilty for what I confess because it’s wrong.”

    “You need to retrain yourself,” I said.  “Because now, with me, your desire is completely correct.”

    “Aye, marriage is a sacrament, isn’t it?”  He wrinkled his forehead.  “After years of confessing my impure thoughts, I dinna ken if I’ll be able to freely share them.”

    “Shall we listen, then?” I said, eyeing the tape recorder.  

    Jamie scoffed. “Maybe if I tell ye quietly, in yer ear.”

    He perched his chin on my shoulder, his rumbly voice and the tickle of his breath on my ear and through my hair giving me shivers even before I registered what he was saying.  “I thought about coming back in after we said goodbye. I thought about standing with you, taking you in my arms, and kissing you.  I imagined peeling off yer tank top, and pulling down your shorts and panties. I wondered if ye might take off my shirt and unwrap my sarong,” he blushed.  “I wondered if ye would touch me, too. I thought of laying ye on your back, and lying on you between your legs.  I wanted to take yer breasts in my hands and in my mouth.  And when you invited me, when you asked me to, if you asked me to, I was so ready to make love to ye, to give myself to ye.”

    “Even though you were committed to being a virgin?” I turned to look at him. “Even though you’d kept yourself from it all those years?”

    “Oh, Claire,” Jamie said.  “I knew I loved you that day.  When you cried, and I held ye; I couldna imagine ever letting anything hurt or harm ye. And I didna want any other man to have ye.  I waited, yes, but I think I was waiting for you. You are my match, Claire, my perfect fit.  Will ye say it to me again, Ripālle?”

    I smiled into his eyes.  “I choose you, Jamie Fraser.”

    He kissed me.  “I choose you, too.”

Chapter 36 : Love Making  It’s not what you think; Claire needs to let Jamie hear her heart.