Outlander: The Standing Stones

Perhaps to Love Again

I took extra care with my dress and toilet that night, not really knowing why. Well, maybe a little. I was very attracted to Mac, I had been from the start, but we lived in two different worlds. Scotland was Mac's home and could never be mine—there were too many memories now. Mac was not an Egyptologist like me, and I don't think he'd ever be comfortable in my little house in Luxor.

He knew this, I'm sure, yet we were undeniably drawn to each other. I had a child now, I was not sure that I wanted more, but would Mac? We were both professors, and that's a busy life. Mrs. Struan had told me proudly of his standing at the university in Edinburgh, how he was a noted authority on Scottish history. And I'm sure she told him about my work in Egypt. I was going to have to adjust my life somewhat, but I intended to share what I had with my son and give him every opportunity.

And I was now a widow, something I had never thought would happen to me. I missed my husband, missed his ways, missed his laughter, and missed his touch. Jamie Fraser had been a way to amuse me to take away a little of the pain, but nothing more.

But Mac was different. Maybe it was the way we'd grown to know each other in the comfort of Mrs. Struan's parlour. Maybe it was the way we shared the same profession, though not the same specialties. I understood Mac, in a way, because in some ways he was like me. Our fascination with the past and our desire to uncover its secrets bonded us.

I wondered what it would have been like if the stones had not taken me. It had felt like we were slowly drawing closer, but neither of us had ever voiced our feelings towards each other. What would have happened if we had? There would still have been the obstacle of our geographic distances connected to our professions, but would we have worked it out? Or would there have been a sweet coupling between us for the time I was in Scotland?

I was angry at him for not warning me about the stones. I had told him of my childhood, and the beliefs and superstitions I had absorbed from my Russian family. I may have had an American upbringing, but there was a part of me that believed in the supernatural, in magic, and knew that there were things that could not and would not ever be understood by rational thinking. I've worked all over the world, but stone henges were beyond my experience.

Mary came in carrying an emerald green silk dress. "I thought ye might like to wear this, let Mr. Malcom see how it flatters you."

"I'm sure Mr. Malcom won't really care," I said as she laced me up, then braided my hair with green ribbons. I was happy with the way I looked, despite my professed indifference. I powdered my nose and forehead with a little rice powder, then made my way downstairs.

It gave me a little thrill to see him look me up and down. He'd never openly given me such frank looks in Mrs. Struan's parlour. There were longing and desire in his look, and I felt something stirring in me. I hadn't realized that I'd wanted him the way I did now, and against all better judgment, I intended to take him up to my room as soon as I could after dinner.

Mac eagerly participated in the talk of Scottish independence that went around the dinner table these days. A Jacobite at heart, he knew the futile outcome of the coming conflict but was careful to conceal it. It should not have been discussed at all, but with the Battle of Culloden Moor drawing closer, caution was being thrown out the window.

After dinner was the usual entertainment of stories and poems and songs. It held my interest for a little while, then I grew bored as I always did. I made my way out of the hall as unobtrusively as I could and went to my bedroom.

Mary and the nurse were playing with the baby. "Take him to your rooms, I'll be spending the night alone tonight." They looked at each other, knowing what I said was a lie, and left the room, bobbing a brief curtsy. I kissed my baby and shut the door behind them.