The Recalcitrant Wife

Chapter 6: Healing and Hiding

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So lost was I, wallowing in my own miserable thoughts, that I failed to notice the footsteps of the person until she sat down on the stair beside me. It was Jenny, bare-footed, and in her shift, in similar dishabille as myself.

In a voice just above a whisper, she offered, "He isna any better then?"

I lifted my face to her, dropping my hands to my lap. "No ..." My voice quavered tremulously as I spoke the word, revealing my emotional state. "And I don't know what else to do."

Jenny surprised me by clasping my hand in hers. "I ken ye did yer best. That's all ye can do. Ye've gotta leave the rest to the Lord now."

Shaking my head, I obstinately replied, "I won't do it; I don't bloody well want to. I can't lose him, Jenny."

"Aye ... he's my brother, and I'll miss him terrible as weel. But nay matter what we do, or wish ... at times, it canna be helped."

"Those are the exact words Jamie used when I begged him not to fight at Culloden. Stubborn Scot!"

"That, he is." Jenny chuckled softly. "I dinna mean to make light o' the situation, but Jamie's no left us yet. He's strong, and stubborn as ye said. He'll fight to stay wi' ye. "

Her face suddenly took on a somber appearance, and she lowered her head. "Claire ... I believe I need to make amends for the shoddy way I've treated ye thus far. It was unfair o' me to judge ye so. Ye must ken tho', as ye're a Sassenach, and I dinna have much faith in that lot.

"I didna ken how deep yer feelin's were for my brother. And, weel, Ian told me what Mutagh and he talked 'bout this morn. So, if Murtagh believes as ye love Jamie truly, then I canna distrust ye any longer, as I have.

With a raise of her head and pleading in her eyes, she said, "D'ye think ye can forgive me?"

I choked out, "Forgiven."

She reached for me, and we held each other, hugging until I thought our bones would break. When we released our hold, I wiped the tears from my cheeks, and smiled at her. "I better get back to my room and see what our stubborn Scotsman is up to."

"Me as weel. He's no the only stubborn Scot in the house. Ian is most probably lookin' under the bed for me. G'night to ye, Claire."

"Good night, Jenny."

. . . . .

Saying a silent prayer on my way up the staircase—despite the previous declaration of my will be done—I took a deep breath and entered the room. As I approached the bed, Jamie's hand shot out from under the blankets, searching for me. Was it my imagination or did it seem less heated? He pulled me to him, and I kissed his brow, then climbed in next to my sweet Scotsman, feeling a bit less troubled. Whether it was the talk with Jenny, my heartfelt prayer, or the touch of his hand, I'd never know, only that I slept soundly for the rest of the night.

When I awoke the following dawn, I was certain that his temperature had come down substantially. Jamie wasn't out of woods yet, by any means, but he appeared to be slowly improving.

# # # # #

How many days had passed? I lost count; it was nothin' but a blur. I remembered Randall stickin' me wi' the bluidy bayonette, and Murtagh drivin' me in the cart to a cabin, and my bonny lass cradlin' my head in her lap. The pain remained all too clear in my memory, the gash in my thigh still throbbin' somethin' fierce. I was in a bed, and glanced around. The room was verra familiar. Stars and stones, was I at Lallybroch then? Turnin' my head, I spied my Sassenach wi' her eyes wide open, gazin' back at me. I touched her cheek to assure myself that I wasna dreamin' ... or dead. She held my hand to her face, then kissed my palm.