Luceo Non Uro || Outlander

Chapter 5

Marsali

That lout. Lazy, good-for-nothing lout. I whisked the gravy furiously, splashing droplets across both Fergus and me. The Hellish nerve of him asking for supper before I even had a chance to begin preparing it. I mumbled the briefest of apologies for the tossed gravy-- I knew how particular Fergus was about his clothing. Gravy would come out in the wash though. We worked as a team to plate the supper, and with the arrival of one of Murtagh's henchmen, I had to spread it even thinner and supplement with the bread I had been saving for breakfast tomorrow. I ate quickly so that I could feed Germain. He quickly grasped the motions of feeding himself since he had been weaned, although it took some time to prepare his small bites of food. Fergus was always terrified the lad would choke.

Fergus watched his son intently as he shoved a lump of overcooked carrot into his open mouth. I patted his arm and made light conversation with our new arrival. Herman Husband was his name, and I grew to quite enjoy his company. He did not speak in the gruff, hateful manner of the other men Murtagh brought through our doors. Rather, he was soft-spoken, and not quick to become enflamed by speaking of the "tyrannical rule" of Governor Tryon that Murtagh was always wailing about. Most importantly he seemed polite, more like a gentleman than the ruffians Murtagh usually brought through our door. He was a level-headed, sensible man. It put my troubled mind at ease somewhat to see that there were men like this behind the Regulators. Not all of them carried the Highlander temper Murtagh and his ilk displayed. The way Herman described the Regulator movement, it sounded like a legitimate cause, not overly zealous men eager to be condemned for their crimes.

As we spoke, I made eyes at Fergus to no avail. His gaze was cast down at Germain for the entirety of the wee lad's supper, and they spoke to each other in their own shared language. Just as well. There are worse things a man can do than be a caring father.

"Did you say your name was Fraser, my dear?"

"Aye, why do ye ask?"

"I met an interesting pair two years ago here in North Carolina, James Fraser and Claire Fraser?"

"Oh, aye. That is our father and his wife," I said, motioning to Fergus.

"Oh, your father? Or Fergus' father?" he looked utterly confused as he looked between me, who did not resemble the tall red haired man in the slightest, and my French husband.

Fergus smiled mischievously, "Both. 'Tis not what you think though," a quick swipe of his finger removed a drip of gravy rolling down Germain's chin. 

"Fergus is Jamie's adopted son, and Daddy married my Ma when I was nearly grown."

"Ah, I see," Herman nodded soberly. "Circumstance brought you two together."

"Non, my wife is a witch and cast her spell on me," I rolled my eyes and swatted his arm.

"A little witchcraft may have been involved, but not by my hand. 'Twas a friend of mine back in Scotland."

Fergus pulled a strand of hair in front of his face to show Herman. It was noticeably shorter than the rest of his hair, but there was no way it could have been due to Seònaid's hand four years prior. "This is what her friend did to me."

I played along with his game. "Aye, she needed it! Just be glad it wasna Michael Murray's." I crinkled my nose at his cheek. Murtagh grunted, bringing us back to the present. "Apologies, Herman. I guess our meeting was not very conventional." He waved his hands in dismissal. Germain coughed, dragging Fergus' attention back to his laborious feeding.

"Dram of whiskey, Herman?" Murtagh took his leave to make himself comfortable in the sitting room, with our new guest in tow. It was his signal to begin the true purpose of Herman's visit. I would not have opposed if Fergus followed, but he remained seated at the table with our son.

Long after Herman left and Murtagh was sleeping, I found myself lying wide awake, uncomfortable due to the growing bairn. I regrettably had many more months of this. I never slept well when I was with child, but does any woman? I found myself going over my conversation with Herman over supper. Murtagh had never spoken of Herman's side of the Regulator movement. If I had known it was more than waving guns and swords in the Recoat's faces, I would not have so heavily discouraged Fergus from taking an interest in the Regulators. If there was a chance this movement would actually amount to anything, the risk Murtagh ran with his schemes seemed less futile. I looked over at my husband, who snored lightly beside me. To my other side, Germain was sleeping less peacefully and beginning to fuss in his cradle.

"Shh, shh," I cooed, taking him from his bed. He stirred awake and grunted. Just as I suspected, soiled his clout. I changed him and settled him back into his cradle, rocking it gently until he began to doze off again. He rubbed his eyes sleepily and muttered an incoherent sentence that was a mixture of French and English, so very like how Fergus spoke. I figured it must be about time to teach him to use the privy like an adult, but I wasn't sure. Without Ma or Claire around to ask these questions, I was relying purely on intuition and observing the mothers with bairns around me.

I took the candle I had lit to change Germain and padded into the kitchen for water. Murtagh snored loudly on the kitchen floor, irritating me to no end. I only had the tolerance to deal with Fergus' snoring. A plan began to form in my mind as I watched him sleep.

I slammed my cup onto the counter and made a show of pouring my water from the glass jug I used to store it after boiling (something Claire had warned us to always do before we drank water). "Och, sorry! Did I wake ye?" I feigned surprise when I heard Murtagh push himself up on his pallet.

"Trouble sleeping lass?" I handed him a cup. He grimaced at the realization it was pure water and not ale. Fergus and he had not taken to drinking water, although Claire insisted it was healthier than the ale that we drank to quench our thirst.

"All this about the taxes, with the governor and the Regualtors... d'ye think it'll come to anything?"

"I think maybe it will," he answered, curious as to my intention. I sighed dramatically and sat before him.

"Then I'm hoping ye'll do something." The old Highlander eyed me warily. "Tell Fergus ye want him to fight alongside ye."

He scoffed, "Marriage not all ye hoped it would be lass? If ye're wanting rid of him, I can take him out back and—"

"If I wanted him shot, I'd do it myself. And it wouldna be fair to take him out first. He doesna put his boots on my blankets," I scowled at the man's muddy boots lying beside him, soiling the blankets we had sacrificed for his comfort. The amount of laundry it created!

"Christ," he muttered, tossing them aside further from where he slept.

"I'd like ye to ask Fergus to join ye and yer men to fight if, and when, the time comes."

"Lass... he's..." Murtagh raised his left hand and looked at me with unwanted sympathy.

"Aye, I ken. Then ye'll understand why I'm asking ye."

"Aye." He nodded in agreement. He had grown to know Fergus and his stubbornness in the days he had lived with us. He saw what I saw; the desperation of a man seeking a purpose.

"I'll have a whole man, or none at all."

"Verra well lass. Ye couldna ha' asked me this in the morning though?" I shrugged with a smile.

"Thank ye, Murtagh. Yer a good man." I made my exit and returned to Fergus' side. I wrapped myself around him, causing him to stir and pull me closer. He sleepily kissed my cheek and breathed heavily as he returned to his slumber. His bare chest was warm against my thin nightgown, and I too found myself beginning to doze, finally content with having asked Murtagh this favor.