seventeenfortythree | River Run

There's no denying it, is there? Claire chuckles, kissing him, and it's one of those kisses. Full of promise. If only he had the time.

"Thank you for my gifts."

She's not forgotten. How could she, when she can feel the metal on her skin?

"Might I convince ye, Claire, to thank me proper this evening?" he asks, hand moving to cover hers so that his thumb can move over the new silver on her finger.

"When do you ever need to convince me, James Fraser?" She asks with a laugh, kissing him again. She'd thank him right now if she wouldn't mildly feel responsible for him being late to whatever tasks he has to take care of today.

"It's just another gift from you."

"W'more gifts to come," he promises but not elaborating. And, well, there is one more he can give her now and not find himself too late.

It might even warm her up and send her back to a peaceful sleep.

He kisses her first, long and deep, before disappearing between her thighs, intent, focused, listening for every sign and moan she'll grace him with as his hands move up and down her thighs. He doesn't take his time, he's a man on a mission this morning and one single goal.

Not exactly what she was hoping for, but oh, she'd be the last person to complain. Claire squeaks--though it's not really a squeak because she most certainly doesn't make that noise--and laughs, the noise soon melting into soft moans.

By the end of it, she's decided she's not getting out of bed, as her legs are not fit to hold her weight. Clever man, but her content sigh is choked by a laugh when she sees what she's done to his poor hair by gripping it gently as he had her way with her.

"Oh, come here. Let me fix your hair," she grins, reaching out for him. Can't be too obvious, now.

Jamie's onto her, he learns very quickly, and he looks at her with a learned grin. "Oh, ye truly are a wicked woman, Sassenach. I'll no' be falling into your web again."

He runs his own hand through his hair, though truly, he doesn't care much. If no one knew by now he loves his wife well, then clearly he'll need to redouble his efforts.

"What," she begins, laughing again, "What are you on about? I was going to help you! Look, you've made it worse."

His hair that never really looks perfectly in place is only a little off, but maybe she just wants to sneak in one last kiss.

He gives her a look, but then he does lean down obediently, eyeing her the entire time. "Since when is my hair so important?" he asks, though really he doesn't mind her fussing. He takes it as a sign of being well loved.

"Since your wife says so."

And clearly, that's gospel. Claire smiles, almost a dare in her eyes, but fixes his hair as promised. Her fingers comb down his fringe, and she brushes some of it away from his eyes.

He gets a peck on the nose for his patience.

"See? Much better."

"As you say," he murmurs against her lips now, kissing her one more time before finally straightening.

"I'll be back well before supper. Or perhaps a wee bit later, seeing as how my wife was being spoiled," he teases.

Claire clicks her tongue and falls back dramatically against the pillows. Her cheeks are still flush as she smiles at him, perhaps one last attempt at seducing him back under the sheets.

"Not too late, I hope. I've got to properly thank you, after all."

"Ye always have been a verra good motivator," she says with one more grin at her, and then he does go, though he's never silently cursed his responsibilities more.

He sees to his duties, part of that making sure all of the slaves have extra blankets and extra firewood for the plunging temperatures. He's good at listening to any concerns, and while he can't always promise things or resolve them the way they'd like, he hears everything.

It's what causes an argument with his auntie. He's too soft on them, she says. He argues sheer numbers and the way things are done beyond expectation. She calls him unconventional and improper. He pushes back that the slaves are happy and healthy. Jocasta states in her ever even voice that another point of contention is Claire and her over-involvement in the goings on of the slaves, especially the children who won't ever learn by coddling. That's when he truly loses his temper.

"Ye dinna complain when the profits came in, double yer expectations. What my wife does is no'a concern of yours, auntie. And if I recall, you graciously bestowed upon me the honor of running yer estate. Run it I will. And I'll be grateful if my wife doesna come up again in regards to her healing."

With that, Jamie's done, walking out with the last word toward the dining room for supper.

Claire wasn't the lady of Lallybroch for long, but much of that knowledge helps here at River Run. Except there, she had servants, not slaves. It's awkward, trying to change the mood and mindset, but Claire likes to think it's all going well.

At least until the sound of raised voices filter into the dining room. Claire, already seated and waiting for Jamie, shares a worried look with one of the newer girls she's brought into the house. When Jamie's footsteps approach and Elisa looks about ready to hide behind the curtains, Claire gives her a nod to go. Claire would maybe follow, if not for her wifely duty of calming a likely irritable husband.

So, when Jamie enters, Claire doesn't even bother with pretense.

"What was that about?"

There's some cursing in Gaelic as his hands clutch at the back of a chair, too tense to sit yet. And he doesn't really want to tell Claire that the argument only escalated when his auntie mentioned Claire.

"Dinna fash," he finally says, letting out a breath, calming himself enough to be tender when he moves to his wife to kiss her softly.

"Jamie--" she begins, only to be cut off by a kiss. He doesn't mean to, she knows, and so she cups his cheek and gives him another, softer kiss.

"Come here. Sit."

She pats the seat beside her and reaches over to the bottle of whiskey so kindly set out, pouring him a glass. He looks like he needs that rather than wine or ale.

"Tell me what happened."

He takes the scotch gratefully, downing most of it in one swallow after sitting.

"She," meaning his aunt, "Doesna like the way certain things are done."

The way he won't look at Claire likely tells all she needs to know, but he does finally say it.

"I didna ken there was a limit to being kind to others."

"We knew what we were getting into, setting out on this path," she soothes, putting a hand on his forearm while the other rubs at that spot between his shoulder and his neck, hoping to relieve some tension. "We knew your aunt would have her opinions."

She's more patience than most, but Jocasta likely to keep as silent on a matter as Claire herself is. There's a reason Claire's been giving the woman a wide berth--the last thing Jamie needs is her clashing with his aunt. He can do enough of that on his own, it seems.

"We knew her ways of being kind were not the same as ours."

"Aye, but what I willna allow is someone to speak ill o'my wife. Even blood."

He loves his aunt, fiercely, as much as his own mother, God rest her soul. He'll defend his wife to his dying breath. But he does close his eyes as she rubs his neck, trying to relax.

"Dare I ask?"

It might be better that she not know, but the floor's open for Jamie to volunteer the information. Claire doesn't need to know the exact words--she can guess well enough what Jocasta has to say about this wife of his, and how they're aiming to change things.

"It would be better if you don't," he says, because truly, at the end of the day it doesn't matter. He does take one of Claire's hands though, bringing it to his lips, kissing her palm, kissing her wrist, and then pressing it over his own chest before covering it with his own.

"Ye do things to help people Claire, that I canna explain or understand." He kisses her wrist again. "Never stop."

The simplest of things makes her heart swell. Smiling, her thumb traces his bottom lip before she comes to a decision and stands. They run things as they wish here, so might as well.

"Go up to our room, Jamie. I'll go see to it that supper is brought to us. I don't want to sit at the table." Too big of a table for the two of them, and the bloody chairs keep her too far away from Jamie when it's clear he'd be happier right up beside her.

Dinner in bed is almost as good as breakfast in bed.

There are some things he simply won't argue and this, tonight, is one of them. He stands and then pulls her close to kiss her softly, grateful for his wife knowing him better than he knows himself, sometimes.

He goes upstairs, removes his boots, then his vest and shirt before using the water in their basin to splash water on his face then wash up at least a little. The only reason his trousers haven't been removed is solely because he doesn't want to scandalize whoever is tasked with helping Claire.

Once Jamie's on his way, Claire pops into the kitchen to assure Elisa that Jamie is not the sort to take out his anger on anyone undeserving. He's not a scary man. Simply tired and in need of lounging about while eating dinner, and so the two ladies come into the room soon enough with two trays.

"Just on the desk there is fine, thank you," she says with a nod, and watches the young girl quickly set down her tray beside Claire's, give the world's most hurried and polite curtsy, and rush out the door like the room was on fire. Ah, well. Some are taking longer to adjust to the new couple in charge than others. She'll come around.

"Looks like veal tonight," she says, lifting one of the lids. "And extra dessert."

Not her doing, of course.

He's very grateful, for all of it, but he takes his wife's hand when she's close enough and pulls her close so that he can lean forward on the bed and rest his head at her bosom, knowing that what will truly make the unpleasantness go away is the comfort of Claire.

"Some days, I think we're doing a verra fine job here. Then others, I'm quickly reminded this is no' like being a laird, and the settlers don'expect us to treat slaves like people. Only property that either works or doesn't, and to be punished when it doesn't."

It wears on him, truly, though he tries valiantly to let it roll off of his shoulders. He doesn't know how to explain what it is to simply be a decent person to every plantation owner. He could show them his back, to show what the aggressive punishment does to a person, dished out by someone who thought he had no rights to humane treatment, but it wouldn't matter, and he knows it. He has more white hairs than he did before, and this evening, he simply feels tired.

Easily, Claire takes him in her arms and presses a lingering kiss into his hair. She has him, and if only she could protect him from the stress of this new life. She'll be by his side, always, but sometimes the arguments and the ignorant comments are said when she's not around to support him. He's strong man, but it wears on him, and she feels it in the way he leans against her.

"A weaker man would give in to the pressure," she reminds him quietly. Jamie is a great many thing. Weak is not one of them. "We are doing good, Jamie. You are doing good. In time, maybe Jocasta will come around."

... she's not so certain about old dogs learning new tricks, or whole ways of living, but she has to offer some sort of optimism for him.

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