And yet. Yet when I had begun to pass into the realm of cha­os this time, I had been thin­king of Frank. And I had felt him, I was sure of it. Some­whe­re in the void had been a tiny pin­prick of light, and he was in it. I knew. I knew also that the­re had been ano­t­her point of light, one that sat still besi­de me, sta­ring at the stone, cheeks gle­a­ming with sweat in spi­te of the chill of the day.
At last he tur­ned to me and gras­ped both my hands. He rai­sed them to his lips and kis­sed each one for­mal­ly.
“My lady,” he said soft­ly. “My…Claire. It’s no use in wai­ting. I must part wi’ ye now.”
My lips were too stiff to speak, but the expres­si­on on my face must have been as easi­ly read­a­ble as usu­al.

Clai­re,” he said urgent­ly, “it’s your own time on the other side of…that thing. You’ve a home the­re, a place. The things that you’re used to. And…and Frank.”
“Yes,” I said, “there’s Frank.”
Jamie caught me by the shoul­ders, pul­ling me to my feet and shaking me gent­ly in sup­pli­ca­ti­on.
“There’s not­hing for ye on this side, lass! Not­hing save vio­lence and dan­ger. Go!” He pushed me slight­ly, tur­ning me toward the stone cir­cle. I tur­ned back to him, catching his hands.
“Is the­re real­ly not­hing for me here, Jamie?” I held his eyes, not let­ting him turn away from me.

He pul­led him­s­elf gent­ly from my grasp without ans­we­ring and stood back, sud­den­ly a figu­re from ano­t­her time, seen in reli­ef upon a back­ground of hazy hills, the life in his face a trick of the shado­wing rock, as if flat­te­ned bene­ath lay­ers of paint, an artist’s remi­nis­cence of for­got­ten pla­ces and pas­si­ons tur­ned to dust.
I loo­ked into his eyes, fil­led with pain and yearning, and he was flesh again, real and imme­dia­te, lover, hus­band, man.
The anguish I felt must have been reflec­ted in my face, for he hesi­ta­ted, then tur­ned to the east and poin­ted down the slo­pe. “Do ye see behind the small clump of oak down the­re? About half­way.”
I saw the clump, and saw what he was poin­ting at, the half-rui­ned crofter’s cot­ta­ge, aban­do­ned on the haun­ted hill.
“I shall go down to the hou­se, and I shall stay the­re ’til the evening. To make sure — to be sure that you’re safe.” He loo­ked at me, but made no move to touch me. He clo­sed his eyes, as though he could no lon­ger bear to look at me.

Picture from Outlander

Good­bye,” he said, and tur­ned to go.

Aye,” he said quiet­ly, so quiet­ly I could hard­ly hear him, bene­ath the whining of the wind. “Aye, I hear.” He drop­ped my hand.
“Go wi’ God…mo duinne.”He step­ped off the ledge and made his way down the steep incli­ne, bra­cing his feet against tufts of grass, catching at bran­ches to keep his balan­ce, not loo­king back. I wat­ched him until he disap­peared into the oak clump, wal­king slow­ly, like a man woun­ded, who knows he must keep moving, but feels his life ebbing slow­ly away through the fin­gers he has clen­ched over the wound.

Pictures from Outlander
My knees were trem­bling.

Pictures from Outlander

Ratio­na­li­ty did not appe­ar to be hel­ping much. I tur­ned to emo­ti­on, and began, shrin­king from the task, to recon­struct the details of my mar­ried lives — first with Frank, then with Jamie. The only result of this was to lea­ve me shat­te­red and wee­ping, the tears for­ming icy trails on my face.

Picture from Outlander
Well, if not rea­son nor emo­ti­on, what of duty? I had given Frank a wed­ding vow, and had meant it with all my heart. I had given Jamie the same, mea­ning to betray it as soon as pos­si­ble. And which of them would I betray now?

All rights for the Pic­ture go to the right­ful owner Starz
Excer­pts and Quo­tes by Diana Gabal­don from “Out­lan­der“
I own not­hing but the editing
Heike Ginger Ba Written by:

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