𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐖𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐁𝐞 | 𝐉𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐞 𝐅𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐫 ✅

13 - I Told Her Everything

From my room, I could hear the festivities that were taking place downstairs. A few times, I thought about putting on my game face and going down to rejoin the party, but very quickly decided against it every time.

The very thought of having to be nice to Willie Faulkner again was enough to deter me.

I wanted Jamie, not him.

I begrudged Willie for being at Lallybroch for the Christmas Eve dinner whilst Jamie was across the sea.

I went over to the book which Jamie had gifted me and I picked it up. I'd left it on top of my bureau, the pen discarded on the paper and the inkpot still open. I sighed, muttering a very unladylike curse word in Gaelic as I realised that the ink would most likely be dry by now.

I picked up the pen and stuck the nib into the pot anyway, moving it around quickly but gently and hoping that it was still usable. Brian Fraser was in no way stingy with the money which he gave to me; in fact, he gave me more money than I could spend, but I still did not want to have to venture all the way into the local town to get more ink, which was a few hour's ride, and besides which, none of the shops would be open for a week or so until after Hogmanay. No, if my ink was dry, then the first available opportunity for me to write to Jamie would not come until after the new year.

I sighed and sat down, this time taking more care with the pot of ink.

I held the pen up and carefully examined the nib, not touching it because I didn't want the possibility of the ink staining my dress. It seemed to flow okay, and it didn't look like it was too thick - I might have been lucky this time.

I wiped the pen clean and then made sure to put the cork in the bottle of ink before I stood up and picked up the book from Jamie once more. I turned it over in my hands again and smiled, imagining him lounging around a Parisian townhouse and flicking through the pages, devouring the book in just one or two sit-ins.

I imagined my red Jamie flicking his long hair from his face as he pored over the book, a smile on his face as he came to a particularly funny part or his eyebrows scrunched in confusion when he came to an uncommon French colloquialism. I could see him in my mind, and for a few seconds, it was as if I was with him, reading over his shoulder.

I huffed and threw another log onto the fire with one hand before I went over to my bed and climbed into the middle of it, crossing my legs under my skirt before I opened the book and began to read.

* * * * *

I was almost halfway through the book, almost completely entranced when I realised that somebody was knocking on my door. I jumped, closing the book very quickly and laying it at my side. "Come in!" I called out.

The door opened and Jenny, red faced and looking very jolly, poked her head around the side of the door. "Boo!" She giggled, coming in and throwing herself down at the bottom of the bed, her body strewn across the blanket that my mother had knitted for me whilst she was pregnant.

I giggled at her, "ye a'right?" She nodded, humming contently before she turned over and propped her head up using one hand, staring directly at me. "Good e'ening?"

Jenny nodded again.

"Ian's a braw lad, is he not?"

She had asked me this six months before. I knew that she liked him, so I just nodded, "aye, Jenny." He wasn't what I would call braw, but there were certainly worse looking lads about.

"I think I really like Ian, ye ken." She sat up again, this time crossing her legs under her skirt like I had my own. We were now looking directly at each other. "I reckon I like Ian about as much as ye like my brother."