LABOUR OF LOVE, outlander

chapter three

CHAPTER THREE
CASTLE LEOCH

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Aoife adjusted to life in Castle Leoch remarkably well. She'd already had some time to adjust to the new time she was in so once at the castle, she fell into an even easier rhythm than before. It wasn't as hard as she'd thought it would be, putting all her plans of getting back home on hold. As much as she wanted to get back to her father and her best friend, she knew that she'd never rest easy in the future if she didn't know that Jamie was okay, that he had survived his injury despite how little she could do. If she went back before she got to see him again, she'd hold the fear that he'd died because she couldn't help him more for the rest of her life. And besides, she had no way of getting back to the stones anyways, if that was even the way back.

With just a few words to the castle's cook, Ciaran had gotten Aoife a position in the kitchen. She liked working with Mrs Fitz, she was a nice woman, if a little over the top. Aoife got the impression that Ciaran was well liked around Leoch as there were always people that were smiling and calling out to him to say hello as he made his way to or from the kitchen or as Aoife walked through the halls with him. Or, well, she got the impression that certain people around Leoch liked Ciaran. While the people that seemed to like him stood out more in Aoife's memory, she caught the dirty looks and the people that he steered her away from talking to while she was with him.

Sometimes Aoife would catch herself in the room she'd been given, staring at her fully dressed reflection in the mirror on her vanity and admiring how she looked. She didn't let anyone catch her staring, not wanting anyone to think she was vain, knowing how rumours got around this castle. But when she was sure she was alone, Aoife would stare, amazed, at how the clothes looked not only good — or more than good, really — in them, but how much she looked like she belonged in them. After more than two decades of dressing in modern clothes on a near consistent basis, she couldn't help her surprise at how normal she looked dressed in the clothes of the eighteenth century.

The season was just turning to spring when they got the letter from France. It had come to Collum, been addressed to him, but she hadn't expected anything less. Aoife had been in the kitchen where she usually was during the day when Ciaran had come rushing in, dodging around people and chairs and things that all seemed to be in his way. In his hand, he clutched a piece of parchment that was definitely more wrinkled than it had been before.

"Effie, Effie!" he shouted, getting her attention.

"Ciaran," she said as she smiled, delighted to see him.

"This came today!" he told her, brandishing the paper.

"Well, getting mail certainly is fun," she said, not understanding his excitement as she set down the bowl she'd been carrying.

"No," he said, shaking his head and laughing. "It's from France. From Murtagh!"

Aoife was suddenly thankful she'd already set down the bowl as she was sure she would have dropped it upon hearing that. She immediately hurried over to Ciaran and took the letter, reading over it quickly, her grin widening as she got further through it. When she'd finished, she turned to Ciaran, her smile practically splitting her face apart and threw her arms around him in an elated hug.

"He's okay! Jamie isnae dead!" she exclaimed.

Ciaran wrapped his arms around her in return, spinning her around a few times. He set her back on her feet and she leaned back enough to see his face. She hadn't quite noticed it before but he seemed to be smiling as wide as she was.

"He got another miracle," she said.

"I told you he would."

Someone cleared their throat and they both turned and saw Mrs Fitz and everyone else in the kitchen watching them. Quickly, the two took a step back from each other so there was an appropriate amount of space between them again. Aoife handed the letter back to Ciaran, a weight lifting off her shoulders. She hadn't failed him, she hadn't failed Jamie. He had survived. He had actually survived.