The Outlandish Companion - Diana Gabaldon [28]
Both struck with horror at the suggestion, nonetheless they contemplate the possibility—Claire has poison, and access to the Prince; it might mean her own life, but is that not worth the lives of the hundreds who will die on the field tomorrow? At last, though, they face the truth—neither Jamie nor Claire can commit murder in cold blood, even knowing what lies at stake.
This conclusion comes too late; Dougal MacKenzie, seeking Jamie, has overheard their conversation. Denouncing Claire as a treacherous witch who has seduced his nephew, he draws his dirk, intending to kill her on the spot. A desperate fight ensues between Jamie and Dougal, ending with Dougal dead on the floor, Jamie’s dirk socketed at the base of his throat.
Fleeing from Culloden House, Jamie finds his godfather, Murtagh, and his servant, Fergus. Pulling out a document that he had prepared long before in case of disaster, he asks Murtagh to witness it: a deed of sasine, passing ownership of Lallybroch to his own nephew, James Murray. Antedated, the deed will keep the estate from being seized by the Crown as the property of a traitor.
The deed is entrusted to Fergus, who is sent with it to Lallybroch, removing him from the danger of the oncoming battle. Jamie then instructs Murtagh to gather the men of Lallybroch; he, Jamie, will see Claire safe—and then return to command his men and see them safely off the field before the battle.
Arriving at the stone circle the evening before the battle, Claire refuses to leave Jamie; if he dies on Culloden, she will die with him.
“If you’re not afraid, I’m not either,” I said, firming my own jaw. “It will … be over quickly. You said so.” My chin was beginning to quiver, despite my determination. “Jamie—I won’t… I can’t… I bloody won’t live without you, and that’s all!”
He opened his mouth, speechless, then closed it, shaking his head. The light over the mountains was failing painting the clouds with a dull red glow. At last he reached for me, drew me close and held me.
“D’ye think I don’t know?” he asked softly. “It’s me that has the easy part now. For if ye feel for me as I do for you—then I am asking you to tear out your heart and live without it.” His hand stroked my hair, the roughness of his knuckles catching in the blowing strands.
“But ye must do it, a nighean donn. My brave lioness. Ye must.”
“Why?” I demanded, pulling back to look up at him. “When you took me from the witch trial at Cranesmuir—you said then that you would have died with me, you would have gone to the stake with me, had it come to that!”
He grasped my hands, fixing me with a steady blue gaze.
“Aye, I would,” he said. “But I wasna carrying your child.”
I tried to fight down the waves of nausea—so easily attributable to fright and starvation—but I felt the small heaviness, suddenly burning in my womb. I bit my lip hard, but the sickness washed over me.
Jamie let go my hands, and stood before me, hands at his sides, stark in silhouette against the fading sky.
“Claire,” he said quietly. “Tomorrow I will die. This child… is all that will be left of me—ever. I ask ye, Claire—I beg you … see it safe.”
I stood still, vision blurring, and in that moment, I heard my heart break. It was a small, clean sound, like the snapping of a flower’s stem.
At last I bent my head to him, the wind grieving in my ears.
“Yes,” I whispered. “Yes, I’ll go.”
It was nearly dark. He came behind me and held me, leaning back against him as he looked over my shoulder, out over the valley. The lights of the watchfires had begun to spring up, small glowing dots in the far distance. We were silent for a long time, as the evening deepened. It was very quiet on the hill; I could hear nothing but Jamie’s even breathing, each breath a precious sound.
“I will find you,” he whispered