#soinspiredbyyou

Shudder, shake, vibrate. It felt like the jet was coming apart at the seams.

"James!" Claire exclaimed; her eyes wide with fright.

James saw how frightened Claire was. He continued holding her hand, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand in small comforting circles. He continued engaging her with story after story trying to focus her attention on something other than the chaos that was happening around them.

"James?" Claire asked looking up into his face earnestly.

"What is it Beauchamp?"

"James," Claire whispered. "In case the plane does, well you know, I ah, I... I just wanted you to know that, that, I love you."  The last three words were barely audible. Her golden whisky eyes sparkled with love for him. Claire put her head on his shoulder and said no more.

James heard her soft admission of love. To him, it was loud. It was louder than the racket an entire herd of trumpeting stampeding elephants could make trampling over the earth destroying everything in their wake.

She loves me, she loves me! Weel, better late than never, he reckoned.  At least he finally knew after all this time.

"I love ye too, Claire." A broad smile graced his beautiful face.  He placed his head on top of hers contented.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your Captain. We are in descent to Logan. I have been told that the ground crew is working diligently to keep to the runway clear of ice, snow, and slush. Stay in your seats, keep your seat belts on and be ready for a bumpy ride. We will be landing shortly."

With her admission of love, the fear Claire felt disappeared leaving behind a feeling of tranquility. The feeling expanded when he confessed his own love for her. She knew everything would be alright, and if not, at least they were together like her parents were.

The landing gear engaged. The jet touched down with a bounce and a wobble. As predicted, the landing was very bumpy even on the longer runway necessary for this type of landing. At times, it almost felt like they were going to crash into the airport itself. Finally, the jet rolled to a halt. The passengers released a  collective sigh of relief as the nightmare was finally over.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have arrived at Logan Airport in Boston. We hope you enjoyed your flight. I need a stiff drink and a change of underwear. I am sure you all do too. Let’s all get cleaned up and I'll meet you in the bar. That is all."

The passengers all cheered for their Captain and agreed that a drink was definitely in order.

"Come on, Claire. Let's get out of here before we canna. We need to find a taxi, or we will be stuck in the airport all the night. We can have a drink when we get settled at the hotel," James said lifting his eyebrows at her. Claire nodded in agreement.

As they stood, each craned their necks looking for Harry and Maizie, concern for the elderly couple etched on their faces. Harry, now with his hat askew and Maizie with her hair jutting out much like a porcupine were otherwise none the worse for wear. Both James and Claire, in turn, surreptitiously waved good-bye to the older couple relieved that they appeared to be alright.

James and Claire collected their belongings as quickly as possible and deplaned without a moment's hesitation.

****************

A genial gentleman dressed in chauffeur attire was waiting at the arrival gate for them. He was carrying a portfolio of some type to which he was frequently referring.

He stepped forward asking in a polished Bostonian accent, "Dr. Beauchamp, Dr. Fraser?"

"Aye, we are Doctors Beauchamp and Fraser. Might I ask who ye are?"

"I am Padrick Donoghue, your chauffeur from the Georges X hotel. I was concerned that your flight might have been diverted due to the storm.  I am relieved that was not the case.  May I assist you with your luggage doctors? If you will follow me your car awaits."

James and Claire looked at each other.  This was not normal. Not at all. Georges X is a five-star  hotel known for its, ahem, discretion.  And very expensive.  Not the usual accommodations for physicians on a conference. Who made these reservations and was it really for them? But tonight, well tonight any port in a storm would do.

A luxury Lexus SUV was awaiting James and Claire.

Padrick entertained them with stories of Boston and what they could do with any spare time.

"Padrick, I am very familiar with the area.  I went to Harvard Medical School and did my residency here. Unfortunately, Dr. Fraser and I need to return to Scotland as soon as the conference is over. It is lovely to remember all the places I enjoyed going to whilst living here."

"Well, it's a home coming for you then Dr. Beauchamp."

"You could say so."

Claire’s mind drifted away from Padrick's idle chatter.  All she could think about was a hot bath and sleep. It had been a long, strange day.

*************

The drive to the hotel was a short distance from the airport and upon arrival Claire and James entered the grand lobby.  The lobby was tastefully done in contemporary furnishings of black, grey, camel, and white.  A welcoming fire was blazing in the lobby fireplace. A beautiful ornate glass elevator, the centerpiece of the lobby, would whisk guests away to their rooms.

"I'll check us in Beauchamp. Why don't ye make yerself comfortable while I take care of it?"

Claire walked over to examine the violet phalaenopsis orchids that decorated the lobby, when she suddenly heard James' voice raised in agitation. He was leaning over the desk, coming eye-to-eye with the clerk.  This was not good. Claire came over to see what was wrong. What she found was her normally good-natured partner turning a brilliant shade of red. He was speaking through clenched teeth with his eyes narrowed menacingly.

"Fraser, what's happened?" Claire queried.

James grabbed Claire by the upper arm and pulled her away from the desk.

"Beauchamp, there has been a mix-up. We are listed as doctors Beauchamp and Fraser, a husband and wife surgical team. There is only one room for us to share. And because of the storm, there isna another room available here or anywhere."

He was quite distressed at this. Truthfully, so was Claire. The prospect of sharing a room with James, while not an unpleasant idea, was not in her plans.  Right now all Claire wanted to do was get some sleep.

“Beauchamp, there is only one bed.  There are nay cots available.  There is nay couch in the room. This is different situation altogether and ye ken it. This is no’ going to work,” he replied angrily.

“Fraser, it will be alright.  We have shared the on-call room many nights while we were working. We can share a room tonight. Tomorrow we can see about making other arrangements.”

“Are ye daft woman?! What if one of your colleagues or friends from Boston sees ye here going into a room with a man that is no’ yer husband? What will they think?” James’ eyes narrowed to blue slits. He slowly turned his head, surveying the lobby for any possibility of a threat, real or imagined, to Claire’s virtue. Satisfied that no one was going to jump out and spray paint a scarlet letter A on Claire’s bosom, James returned his gaze to Claire.

James began to ruffle his fingers through his hair making it stand up on end, “Christ, Beauchamp, think of yer reputation woman! I’ll not have people thinking ye a wanton. I’ll nae risk it!” James was visibly distressed and hellbent on protecting Claire’s reputation and honor. He continued mumbling in Gàidhlig about tainting her reputation as a woman.

Claire gaped at him in shock.

“James,” she said very quietly through her teeth, “first of all, how would anyone know you are not my husband, hmm? Secondly, this is not the 18th century, for god’s sake; it’s the 21st century! No one will think anything of it. Besides, look,” she pointed to the desk where there was a sign that said, The Essence of Discretion. Perhaps the hotel was a trysting place for the rich and famous.

“I wouldn’t worry.”

“Aye, weel I dinna like it anyway. I’ll sleep down here, if ye dinna mind.”

“James,” Claire’s yellow tiger’s eyes narrowed glinting dangerously, “I am tired. In fact, I am exhausted. We had a horrible flight. We almost died. I want to take a bath, perhaps have a drink, and go to sleep, in that order. And I am not leaving you down here. Get your bag and get a move on. NOW.”

Claire turned on her heel, grabbed her suitcase, took the card key from the clerk, and marched toward the elevator.

“MOVE IT, Fraser,” she said without so much as a glance over her shoulder to see if he was following her.

James knew she was not to be trifled with. He had seen her in this type of mood before when a cardiac surgery fellow made a mistake whilst taking care of one of her patients.  Claire had swallowed the fellow whole, spit out his bones, and used them to pick her teeth. Claire could be formidable when necessary. She was a true force of nature like a hurricane or an earthquake. James loved her like that. This was not a meek and obedient woman. Claire was a true match for him; if she would let him get a word in edgewise.

He quickly grabbed his bag and followed behind her. He had another bit of bad news still to deliver.

While standing in the elevator, James cleared his throat and place his hands protectively over his bollocks.

“UMM, Beauchamp?”

“Yes, Fraser, what is it?” Claire asked tiredly.

“I have another thing to tell ye.”

“Yes?”

“Theycancelledtheconference.” James told her all in one breath. “The speakers couldna make it in from Texas because of the storm.”  He stood there waiting for the fallout.

Claire looked at him her lips twitching somewhere between exasperation and hysterics. Her eyes glazed over and she began to laugh hysterically.

“Could this trip get any worse?”

James was relieved that Claire was not going to have a melt down on the elevator.

“Weel, Beauchamp, let’s look at this way.  We could do with a bit a vacation, do ye no think? The clerk said that everything is all paid for. So maybe we should just try to enjoy it. Maybe ye could show me around Boston, hmm? My own personal tour guide” he said trying to wink at Claire. Instead, he looked like a large red sleepy owl blinking its eyes.

James removed his overcoat and jacket, took Claire’s overcoat as well and hung them in the closet. He headed straight to the bar and found a bottle of Glenfiddich single malt whisky and poured himself a generous dram, downing it in one swallow. He poured himself a second dram and one for Claire handing her the cut crystal glass.

“To us, sláinte,” James said raising his glass to Claire.

Claire raised her glass to him in salute, “Sláinte.”

Claire sipped at her whisky savoring the flavor and the burn. It warmed her through.

She was more than aware that he was tracking her every move in the room.

Finally, James spoke softly and tenderly, “Claire, we needta talk.”

“I know,” she whispered.

Claire bowed her head in contemplation, studying the depths of the glass she held as if it possessed all the answers to all the mysteries of the world.

She took off her knee-high boots, sat down on the bed patting the other side indicating that James should come and sit next to her.

“Oh, and bring the whisky. I think we’ll need some liquid courage for this conversation.”

“Aye, I think ye’re right,” James nodded in agreement.

James removed his shoes, took off his tie and opened the collar button. Claire could see James’ red gold chest hair peeking out from under his shirt. He handed Claire the bottle of whisky then made himself comfortable next to her.

They sat there sipping their drink in companionable silence for what could have been seconds, minutes, or hours each lost in their own thoughts.

Eventually, James turned to look at Claire and broke the silence between them.   

“Claire, I need the truth. When ye said ye loved me on the plane, did ye mean it or, or did ye only say it because ye thought we would die?”

“It’s the truth you want is it, Fraser?” she asked raising one eyebrow giving him a hard look.

James grinned, “Claire, don’t ye think ‘tis time ye call me Jamie?”

Claire chuckled, “Considering the position we find ourselves in, I guess you’re right... Jamie.”

“It’s the truth you want, Jamie?” Claire asked questionly.

Jamie nodded his head.

“Then it’s the truth you shall have. Both. It was the fear that we would die that gave me the courage to finally admit my feelings to myself and to you. I did not want to die without telling you how I felt about you.” Claire raised her glass and took a long sip of the whisky.

“How long Claire, how long did ye ken it?” His demeanor was serious. He needed to know.

“Since we met, well not long after we met really.” Claire kept her gaze averted from him. She could not face him. Her face began to flush from shame from her lack of honesty with him.

Jamie got up and began to pace in the room in frustration. “All this time Claire and ye didna have the nerve to tell me! Look at all the time we lost. Did ye think me a brute maybe because of my size that maybe ye were afraid of me?”

Claire looked shocked at this.  She rose from the bed and came to him, “Oh no, Jamie not at all! I think you’re the best man ever. That’s why I never said anything. I come with too much baggage. Why would a man like you want someone like me? Everyone in my life leaves me or betrays me. Why would you want someone no one else wants?”

Claire walked over to the window and stared out onto the frozen landscape. A single tear ran down the side of her face.

Jamie stopped in his tracks. He stood stock still staring at her in utter disbelief.

“Not want ye, not want ye!?”  He was thunderstruck at her assertion.

Two of Jamie’s fingers began to beat a restless tattoo against his leg.

“God Claire, I have wanted ye since the moment I laid eyes on ye, did ye ken that?” He closed the distance between them in three strides. He placed his arms around her waist, dropping his chin onto her shoulder.  

“But, do ye ken when I knew that I loved ye? It happened not long after that. Do ye remember the night that we lost wee Adelaide MacGregor ‘cause we couldna get a heart to transplant for her?”

Claire turned to face Jamie and nodded in assent.

“That night as I held ye in my arms when ye cried, I kent that I loved ye. I kent I would be yers forever, whether ye wanted me or no’. How could ye think I’d no’ want ye? Ye’re bright, intelligent, kind, tenderhearted, and sae, sae beautiful. Of course, I would want ye! Any man in his right mind would.”

“Not every man would,” Claire said bitterly.

He was scrubbing his hand over the back of his neck as he  paced around the room again. He was growing more distressed with each passing second.

“She has been hurt laddie, be gentle with her.”

Jamie took a deep steadying breath, turned and returned to Claire’s side. He pulled her into his embrace wrapping his arms tightly around her. Jamie made a small noise almost like a sob.

“I’ll ask yer forgiveness, Claire. I shouldna have spoken to ye so harshly. I dinna have the courage to admit it to myself either. I dinna think ye would want a man such as me.”

He let go of her, took two steps back, his head lowered to his chest.

“I carry around baggage too, Claire. I thought if ye kent about me, ye wouldna want me.”

Claire was quite taken aback by his statement. What kind of baggage could this beautiful man be carrying around that would make him think he is unlovable she wondered?

Jamie strode over to the fireplace and stared into the flames. Claire came to him resting her face against his chest and wrapped her arms around him.

“I’m here for you, Jamie. You’re not alone.” Claire placed a small chaste kiss on the side of his neck.

“Thank ye, Claire.” He broke the embrace, turned to face her and kissed her on the forehead. “As I am for ye.”

“Jamie, obviously we both have pasts that we have issues with. I think that in order to give whatever this is between us a chance, we need to be open and honest with each other. Don’t you agree?”

“Aye, Claire, I do. I dinna want to push ye to tell me anything ye feel ye canna, but we need to have a truth between us.  We can have secrets but no’ lies. Now, who shall go first ye or me? We need to remember that a burden shared is a burden carried.”

“I’ll go first.” Claire refilled her glass with whisky, took a fortifying drink, and began.

“My father had his own jet that he used for business.  My mother and I often accompanied him wherever he needed to travel for business. One day in late October we were returning home to London. A great storm suddenly rose up around us. The sky was ablaze with lightning and the air was filled with the crash of thunder all around us. There was a reek of ozone about us.  A blinding downpour began to pound the plane. The turbulence caused the plane to begin to shake and rock. I was so frightened. I remember whimpering and clinging to my mother.”

“Despite trying everything he could, Papa lost control over the jet. My father radioed the tower that he had lost instruments, control of the jet, and gave our location. He held me, kissed me, and told me he loved me. Then my mother cuddled me into her body using her body to protect me from injury. She told me to always remember them and to know they would always be with me wherever I was. The jet crashed and I survived while my parents died. I was only five years old.”

James was visibly moved by her story. Tears rimmed his eyes. He reached out grasped Claire’s small hands in his larger ones and placed them over his heart hoping that the steady beat would soothe her. Tenderly, he placed a kiss on her forehead. Now I ken why she is afraid of turbulence.

“I am sae, sae sorry, Claire. I didna ken.”

Claire leaned into his chest drawing strength from his solid presence, nodded her head and continued her story.

“My Uncle Lambert, Lamb as I called him, became my legal guardian. We traveled the world together. He was an eminent archeologist. My life was quite unconventional. Going from one dig to another in different parts of the world. In the evenings, I was tutored by Lamb. I didn’t really have friends growing up. Childhood was quite different for me than what most children experience. I don’t regret it, but there were times I wished for a normal life like everyone else.” Claire shrugged at that thought.

“Eventually, Lamb settled in Oxford to teach.  There he met a young doctoral student studying history.  His dissertation was on the ‘45 Rebellion. Frank Randall is his name. They became friends and eventually, Frank courted me.  I was all of 19 at the time. Frank was 10 years my senior.  He was rather dashing and handsome.  Lamb approved of him. So when Frank asked me to marry him, I did. That was a mistake. Frank did not love me. He used me to further his career through his association with Lamb. Frank had a mistress all while he courted me. He was with her even on our wedding night before he came to me.”

Claire stopped in the telling of the story, took a deep breath to compose herself then continued in a halting voice.

“I found out about his mistresses, there were more than one by the way, by accident. Frank kept a locked box that he said contained important research documents. One day I was reaching for something in the closet, it fell and opened. In it were love letters from all of  his mistresses.”

Tears began to run down Claire’s face, hot and heavy. Claire turned her head away from Jamie as if to hide her shame. Instead, Jamie pulled her tightly to him, cradling her against his chest. He cupped her cheeks lifting her face up toward him.  His thumbs gently wiped away her tears. “Dinna hide yer face mo ghràdh, ye have nothing to be ashamed of. He does.”

Claire’s eyes glistened with tears; she nodded wondering what she did to deserve to be in the arms of a man such as Jamie.

“I read them. When I confronted him with the evidence, he laughed at me. He admitted the whole thing. He told me he never loved me and all I was good for was a good fuck. I slapped him, grabbed my purse, and went to see Lamb. Naturally, I told Lamb what happened.  Lamb became despondent. He felt responsible as he encouraged the match. He refused to eat, slept poorly, and would not take his blood pressure medication. Lamb died of a stroke three months later. Of course, I divorced Frank. And then I was truly alone.”  

Tears streamed down Claire’s face. Large, hot, angry tears. She sobbed and clung to Jamie, shaking with the remembered pain and humiliation.

Jamie hugged her fiercely to his chest, running his hand soothingly over her back. “Hush a nighean, hush.  I’m here.” Jamie uttered words in Gàidhlig which sounded nonsensical to Claire, but the words and his voice calmed her. As Claire began to still he placed two fingers under her chin raising her face to him and kissed away her tears.

“Claire, where is yon man, yer ex-husband, now?” Jamie spoke to her tenderly all while he was seething with fury. His eyes darkened becoming narrow slits.  His hand opened and closed with the want to lash out, strike out at this poor excuse for a man and beat him within an inch of his life for what he did to her.

“I think he teaches here in Boston. Why?”

“If he ever has the misfortune of crossing my path, I shall beat him into a pudding.” He smiled with pleasure at the thought. He would avenge her.

“Dinna waste your tears, a leannan. He is not worthy of ye or yer tears. The man is a fool. I love ye and I always will.” He cuddled her close rocking her gently. He raised her face up and kissed her tenderly on the lips. When their lips parted, Jamie gave her a shy smile; his lip curling on one side.

Claire’s eyes opened wide in shock; her hand going to her lips. Her lips tingled from his kiss, and she felt a rush of blood through her body warming her. Claire realized that she had never experienced such closeness, warmth, tenderness, and safety as she did now while Jamie was holding her close to him. There was a sense of peace that washed over her. In Jamie’s arms, she was totally accepted for who she was.  She found love in his arms.

“I’m sorry Claire if I was too forward. I dinna mean to… Ye seemed so upset. I just meant to offer ye some comfort.” Jamie said apologetically.

Claire looked into his clear blue eyes, reached up, grasping him by the nape of his neck, and brought his head down to hers. She soundly kissed him back. His lips were soft, tasting of whisky, and from the salt of her tears. It was everything she imagined it would be.

“That’s what you call being forward, Fraser.”

Jamie was completely nonplussed by her kiss and was rather flustered. “Where did ye learn to kiss like that, Claire?”

“I am not a nun, Fraser. I have kissed a few men and maybe an occasional frog in my life.”

Jamie was not sure how he felt after that.  He wanted to pick her up, throw her over his shoulder, put her on the bed, and take her. He stepped back, chest heaving, and with great effort collected himself.

Claire shyly smiled at Jamie, “I do believe it’s your turn now to tell your story.”

Claire sat by his side, taking his hand in hers as an offer of support waiting for him to begin.

“Some of my story is similar to yers.  My mam was a visiting nurse, ye ken.  She was going on a home visit to a new young mother and her bairn.  The mother was no more than 18. My brother Willie needed to drive into Broch Morda to pick up some supplies my Da had ordered for the farm. So, Willie drove my Mam to her appointments that day.  It was September and the beginning of the rutting season for the red deer.  As Willie was driving along two huge stags ran out onto the road directly in front of the car.  Willie swerved trying to avoid them but struck one of the stags.  The car went off the road and into a ditch.  Willie died instantly, while my Mam hung on for a week in a coma. She died eight days after the accident.  I was fifteen at the time.”

Claire could feel the tremors running through Jamie’s body as he told her the story. She pulled him closer to her, gave his hand a squeeze letting him know she was there and as encouragement.

Jamie took a deep shuddering sigh and continued.

“Much like yer Uncle Lamb, my Da was overcome with grief from the two losses. He was no’ himself after their deaths.  The following year, when I was 16, a group of lads and I were swimming in the pond by the gristmill. We were naked as jays,” he said with a smirk.

“The lads were roughhousing around, pushing and shoving. Someone pushed my friend Ian, and he fell into the pond too close to the water wheel.  He got caught by the water wheel at the leg and was about to be dragged under. I heard Ian screaming and hollering. So, I jumped in after him and managed to free him. His leg was badly mangled. There was blood everywhere. I was trying to get out of the water but I lost my balance, and I was taken under. The water wheel paddles tore the skin from my back. The water was turning red from my blood too. Ian and I were rushed to the hospital. Ian lost his leg below the knee.  I spent a long time in intensive care having surgery to close my back. Some grafts had to be placed ye ken. Some of the wounds had to be left to heal on their own."

Jamie let out a heavy sigh sounding like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“It was all too much for my Da after my Mam and Willie. Then I went and got injured, his now only son.  When he came to the hospital and saw me, I was told he made a small sound, grabbed at his chest, and fell. He suffered a heart attack and died. To this day, I feel responsible for his death.”

Jamie whispered, “Claire, I killed my Da.”

He turned his head buried his face into Claire’s neck and sobbed like he was a child fresh with the grief from the loss of a parent and from years of repressed guilt.

Claire held him close, rubbing his back, uttering tender words that one would say to soothe a child.

“My back is scarred, Claire. ‘Tis grotesque. I’m afraid ye would think me a monster if ye saw it.”

Claire looked at him with a smile on her lips that went to her eyes.

“I sincerely doubt it, Jamie.”

“Ye didna think ye would be disgusted or repulsed by it, Claire?”

“No Jamie, I most certainly don’t think so. Your beauty lies in your heart, in your soul. A marred back cannot change that. It cannot change what I feel for you.”

They sat there holding each other, taking solace from each other. 

“Jamie, you mustn't blame yourself for your father’s death. You were very brave to jump in after your friend and save his life.  He would have died if not for you. I’m sure your father was very proud of his brave son.”

“Do ye think so, Claire?”

“Yes, I do. I think you were very brave, reckless maybe, but brave nonetheless.” She smiled. “Oh, Jamie how I do love you.”