Timeless ~Outlander~

Two Left Feet

The following day, we found ourselves gathered around the long wooden table in the great hall of Castle Leoch, a hearty dinner spread before us. I sat beside Murtagh, who was positioned next to Jamie, while Claire sat across from us. The atmosphere was filled with the clinking of utensils and the occasional laughter of the clan members.

As we enjoyed our meal, Claire's observant eyes landed on Jamie, and she couldn't help but comment, her tone filled with a touch of mischief, "Your lip looks a little swollen, Jamie. Did you get thumped by a horse?"

Murtagh, who had been focused on his plate, suddenly tuned in to their conversation, his interest piqued. He glanced at Jamie, waiting for his response.

Jamie, looking slightly sheepish, took a swig from his cup and admitted, "Aye, the horse swung his head when I wasn't looking."

"That's too bad. Those fillies can be dangerous." Claire's words had a strange undertone to them, and I couldn't help but sense that she wasn't really talking about horses at all.

Murtagh, his curiosity now fully engaged, chimed in, "Fillies? Alec has ye working with the fillies now?"

Jamie nodded in response, his expression a mix of embarrassment and discomfort.

A few moments later, Jamie accidentally spilled his drink, a small splash landing on Murtagh. With a burst of frustration, Murtagh exclaimed, "You clumsy dolt!"

"Sorry," Jamie muttered, looking genuinely apologetic. "I bit my tongue."

Without further explanation, Jamie excused himself from the table, saying, "I'd best go see if Alec wants anything else."

As Jamie left the table, there was a palpable tension in the air, and I couldn't help but wonder about the unspoken words and the cryptic exchange that had just taken place.

Murtagh, his demeanour serious, shifted his position to sit directly in front of Claire. His voice was low, a warning in his tone as he said, "Hey, if you're teasing the lad about Laoghaire, if her father comes to know about it, young Jamie could get more than a bloodied nose."

Claire's smirk didn't waver, and her response held a hint of amusement, "Like a wife?"

Murtagh's eyes bore into hers as he continued, "Maybe, but that's not the wife he should have."

Claire's raised eyebrow and smirking expression suggested she knew something more, and she prodded further, "No?"

"No," Murtagh asserted firmly. "He needs a woman, not a lassie. And Laoghaire will be a girl until she's fifty. I've been around long enough to ken the difference very well. And so have you, mistress."

Claire's demeanour shifted, and a flicker of shame crossed her features. It seemed that Murtagh's words had struck a chord with her, and she couldn't deny the truth in his assessment.

As Murtagh rose to his feet, signalling his departure from the table, I quickly finished the last few bites of my meal and excused myself.

Hurrying after him, I left the dining area and followed Murtagh down the castle's corridors, my steps echoing in the quietness of the stone walls.

Murtagh walked briskly down the corridor, his steps purposeful and his expression focused. I matched his pace, falling into step beside him, determined to address the matter that had been bothering me.

"Is that why you always call me lass?" I asked, my voice carrying a hint of offence. "Because you see me as a child, not a woman?"

Murtagh cast a sidelong glance at her, his features revealing a mixture of emotions. "Nay," he replied, his voice gruff but sincere. "I call ye lass because it's a term of endearment, not a judgment. It's what we say here, it doesna define who ye are."