Beloved Husband

The whole Scene:

Pale in the shadows, he saw Clai­re Randall’s face. Com­ple­te­ly drai­ned of color, she loo­ked like a wraith against the dark bran­ches of the yew. She stood for a moment, sway­ing, then sank to her knees in the grass, as though her legs would no lon­ger sup­port her.“Mother!” Bri­an­na drop­ped to her knees besi­de the crou­ching figu­re, cha­fing one of the limp hands. “Mama, what is it? Are you faint? You should put your head bet­ween your knees. Here, why don’t you lie down?“Claire resisted the hel­pful prod­dings of her off­spring, and the dro­o­ping head came upright on its slen­der neck once more.“I don’t want to lie down,” she gas­ped. “I want… oh, God. Oh, dear holy God.” Kne­e­ling among the unmo­wed grass she stret­ched out a trem­bling hand to the sur­face of the stone. It was car­ved of gra­ni­te, a simp­le slab.“Dr. Rand­all! Er, Clai­re?” Roger drop­ped to one knee on her other side, put­ting a hand under her other arm to sup­port her. He was tru­ly alar­med at her appearan­ce. A fine sweat had bro­ken out on her temp­les and she loo­ked as though she might keel over at any moment. “Clai­re,” he said again, urgent­ly, try­ing to rou­se her from the sta­ring tran­ce she had fal­len into. “What is it? Is it a name you know?” Even as he spo­ke, his own wor­ds were rin­ging in his ears. No one’s been buried here sin­ce the eigh­te­enth cen­tu­ry, he’d told Bri­an­na. No one’s been buried here in two hund­red years.Claire’s fin­gers brushed his own away, and touched the stone, cares­sing, as though tou­ching flesh, gent­ly tra­cing the let­ters, the groo­ves worn shal­low, but still clear.“‘James Alex­an­der Mal­colm Macken­zie Fra­ser’, ” she read aloud. “Yes, I know him.” Her hand drop­ped lower, brushing back the grass that grew thic­kly about the stone, obscu­ring the line of smal­ler let­ters at its base.” ‘Beloved hus­band of Clai­re,’ ” she read.“Yes, I knew him,” she said again, so soft­ly Roger could scar­ce­ly hear her. “I’m Clai­re. He was my hus­band.” She loo­ked up then, into the face of her daugh­ter, white and sho­cked above her. “And your father,” she said.Roger and Bri­an­na sta­red down at her, and the kir­kyard was silent, save for the rust­le of the yews above.


No!” I said, qui­te cross­ly. “For the fifth time — no! I don’t want a drink of water. I have not got a touch of the sun. I am not faint. I am not ill. And I haven’t lost my mind, eit­her, though I ima­gi­ne that’s what you’re thinking.“Roger and Bri­an­na exch­an­ged glan­ces that made it clear that that was pre­cise­ly what they were thin­king. They had, bet­ween them, got me out of the kir­kyard and into the car. I had refu­sed to be taken to hos­pi­tal, so we had gone back to the man­se. Roger had admi­nis­te­red medi­c­inal whis­ky for shock, but his eyes dar­ted toward the tele­pho­ne now as though won­de­ring whe­ther to dial for addi­tio­nal help — like a straitja­cket, I supposed.“Mama.” Bri­an­na spo­ke soot­hin­gly, reaching out to try to smooth the hair back from my face. “You’re upset.”“Of cour­se I’m upset!” I snap­ped. I took a long, qui­vering bre­ath and clam­ped my lips tight toge­ther, until I could trust mys­elf to speak calmly.“I am cer­tain­ly upset,” I began, “but I’m not mad.” I stop­ped, struggling for con­trol. This wasn’t the way I’d inten­ded to do it. I didn’t know qui­te what I had inten­ded, but not this, blur­ting out the truth without pre­pa­ra­ti­on or time to orga­ni­ze my own thoughts. See­ing that bloo­dy gra­ve had dis­rup­ted any plan I might have formed.“Damn you, Jamie Fra­ser!” I said, furious. “What are you doing the­re any­way; it’s miles from Culloden!“Brianna’s eyes were half­way out on stalks, and Roger’s hand was hovering near the tele­pho­ne. I stop­ped abrupt­ly and tried to get a grip on mys​elf​.Be calm, Beauch­amp, I inst­ruc­ted mys­elf. Bre­a­the deeply. Once… twice… once more. Bet­ter. Now. It’s very simp­le; all you have to do is tell them the truth. That’s what you came to Scot­land for, isn’t it?I ope­ned my mouth, but no sound came out. I clo­sed my mouth, and my eyes as well, hoping that my ner­ve would return, if I couldn’t see the two ashen faces in front of me. Just… let… me… tell… the… truth, I pray­ed, with no idea who I was tal­king to. Jamie, I thought.

All rights for the Pic­ture go to the right­ful owner Starz
Quo­te and Excerpt by Diana Gabaldon from “Dragonfly in Amber”
I own not­hing but the editing
Heike Ginger Ba Written by:

|Human|Woman|Mother|Wife|Friend| Photographer| Blogger| |TV-Junkie|Photoshop-Beginner|Art-Lover|Cologne-based|Outlander-addict |Sherlockian |TWD-devoted


  1. Jan Moutz
    February 16

    So glad that I saved this! I didn’t have time to read it on Fri­day, and now I know how to save to Pin­te­rest! One of the­se days, I may beco­me tech sav­vy! I live the edit with Jamie, Clai­re, and Bree! It is beau­ti­ful!

    • Heike Ginger Ba
      February 16

      Hi Jan..

      so hap­py that so many lik­ed it..over 200 likes alo­ne on TW..stop coun­ting the likes on FB..worth the work..LG Hei­ke

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