Other side of the battle

Today I want to introduce edits from my dear friend Swietjes Outlander (on twitter @SwietjesO). A wonderful scene in book and show …

Jamie wai­ted until they were out of ear­shot. Then he yan­ked me around to face him. He was clear­ly furious, on the ver­ge of explo­si­on. I felt my own wrath rising; what right did he have to tre­at me like this?
“Sul­king!” he said. “Sul­king, is it? I’m using all the self-con­trol I’ve got, to keep from sha­kin’ ye ’til your teeth ratt­le, and you tell me not to sulk!”
“What in the name of God is the mat­ter with you?” I asked angri­ly. I tried to shake off his grip, but his fin­gers dug into my upper arms like the teeth of a trap.
“What’s the mat­ter wi’ me? I’ll tell ye what the mat­ter is, sin­ce ye want to know!” he said through clen­ched teeth. “I’m tired of having to pro­ve over and over that you’re no an English spy. I’m tired of having to watch ye very minu­te, for fear of what foolish­ness you’ll try next. And I’m ver­ra tired of peop­le try­ing to make me watch while they rape you! I din­na enjoy it a bit!”

And you think I enjoy it?” I yel­led. “Are you try­ing to make out it’s my fault?!” At this, he did shake me slight­ly.
“It is your fault! Did ye stay put whe­re I orde­red ye to stay this mornin’, this would never have hap­pen­ed! But no, ye won’t lis­ten to me, I’m no but your hus­band, why mind me? You take it into your mind to do as ye damn plea­se, and next I ken, I find ye flat on your back wi’ your skirts up, an’ the worst scum in the land bet­ween your legs, on the point of takin’ ye befo­re my eyes!” His Scots accent, usual­ly slight, was gro­wing broa­der by the second, sure sign that he was upset, had I nee­ded any fur­t­her indi­ca­ti­on.
We were almost nose to nose by this time, shou­ting into each other’s face. Jamie was flus­hed with fury, and I felt the blood rising in my own face.“It’s your own fault, for igno­ring me and suspec­ting me all the time! I told you the truth about who I am! And I told you the­re was no dan­ger in my going with you, but would you lis­ten to me? No! I’m only a woman, why should you pay any atten­ti­on to what I say? Women are only fit to do as they’re told, and fol­low orders, and sit mee­kly around with their hands fold­ed, wai­ting for the men to come back and tell them what to do!”
He shook me again, unab­le to con­trol him­s­elf.

And if ye’d done that, we would­na be on the run, with a hund­red Red­coats on our tail! God, woman, I din­na know whe­ther to strang­le ye or throw ye on the ground and ham­mer ye sen­seless, but by Jesus, I want to do some­thing to you.”
At this, I made a deter­mi­ned effort to kick him in the balls. He dod­ged, and jam­med his own knee bet­ween my legs, effec­tively pre­ven­ting any fur­t­her attempts.
“Try that again and I’ll slap you ’til your ears ring,” he grow­led.
“You’re a bru­te and a fool,” I pan­ted, struggling to escape his grip on my shoul­ders. “Do you think I went out and got cap­tu­red by the English on pur­po­se?”
“I do think ye did it on pur­po­se, to get back at me for what hap­pen­ed in the gla­de!”
My mouth fell open.
“In the gla­de? With the English deserters?”
“Aye! Ye think I should ha’ been able to pro­tect ye the­re, an’ you’re right. But I could­na do it; you had to do it yours­elf, and now you’re try­in’ to make me pay for it by deli­be­r­a­te­ly put­ting yours­elf, my wife, in the hands of a man that’s shed my blood!”“Your wife! Your wife! You don’t care a thing about me! I’m just your pro­per­ty; it only mat­ters to you becau­se you think I belong to you, and you can’t stand to have someo­ne take some­thing that belongs to you!”
“Ye do belong to me,” he roared, dig­ging his fin­gers into my shoul­ders like spikes. “And you are my wife, whe­ther ye like it or no!”
“I don’t like it! I don’t like it a bit! But that doesn’t mat­ter eit­her, does it? As long as I’m the­re to warm your bed, you don’t care what I think or how I feel! That’s all a wife is to you — some­thing to stick your cock into when you feel the urge!”

At this, his face went dead white and he began to shake me in ear­nest. My head jer­ked vio­lent­ly and my teeth cla­cked toge­ther, making me bite my tongue pain­ful­ly.
“Let go of me!” I shou­t­ed. “Let go, you” — I deli­be­r­a­te­ly used the wor­ds of Har­ry the deser­ter, try­ing to hurt him — “you rut­ting bas­tard!” He did let go, and fell back a pace, eyes bla­zing.
“Ye foul-tongued bitch! Ye’ll no speak to me that way!”
“I’ll speak any way I want to! You can’t tell me what to do!”

Seems I can’t! Ye’ll do as ye wish, no mat­ter who ye hurt by it, won’t ye? Ye sel­fish, will­ful — ”
“It’s your bloo­dy pri­de that’s hurt!” I shou­t­ed. “I saved us both from tho­se deserters in the gla­de, and you can’t stand it, can you? You just stood the­re! If I hadn’t had a kni­fe, we’d both be dead now!”Until I spo­ke the wor­ds, I had had no idea that I had been angry with him for fai­ling to pro­tect me from the English deserters. In a more ratio­nal mood, the thought would never have ent­e­red my mind. It wasn’t his fault, I would have said. It was just luck that I had the kni­fe, I would have said. But now I rea­li­zed that fair or not, ratio­nal or not, I did somehow feel that it was his respon­si­bi­li­ty to pro­tect me, and that he had fai­led me. Perhaps becau­se he so clear­ly felt that way.“You saw that post in the yard of the fort?” I nod­ded short­ly. “Well, I was tied to that post, tied like an ani­mal, and whip­ped ’til my blood ran! I’ll car­ry the scars from it ’til I die.


If I’d not been lucky as the devil this after­noon, that’s the least as would have hap­pen­ed to me. Likely they’d have flog­ged me, then han­ged me.” He swal­lo­wed hard, and went on.“I knew that, and I did­na hesi­ta­te for one second to go into that place after you, even thin­king that Dou­gal might be right! Do ye know whe­re I got the gun I used?”

I shook my head num­bly, my own anger begin­ning to fade. “I kil­led a guard near the wall. He fired at me; that’s why it was empty. He mis­sed and I kil­led him wi’ my dirk; left it sti­cking in his wish­bo­ne when I heard you cry out. I would have kil­led a dozen men to get to you, Clai­re.” His voice cra­cked.
“And when ye screa­med, I went to you, armed wi’ not­hing but an empty gun and my two hands.” Jamie was speaking a litt­le more calm­ly now, but his eyes were still wild with pain and rage. I was silent.


Unsett­led by the hor­ror of my encoun­ter with Rand­all, I had not at all appre­cia­ted the despe­ra­te cou­ra­ge it had taken for him to come into the fort after me.

He tur­ned away sud­den­ly, shoul­ders slum­ping.
“You’re right,” he said quiet­ly. “Aye, you’re qui­te right.” Sud­den­ly the rage was gone from his voice, repla­ced by a tone I had never heard in him befo­re, even in the extre­mi­ties of phy­si­cal pain.“My pri­de is hurt. And my pri­de is about all I’ve got left to me.” He lea­ned his forearms against a rough-bar­ked pine and let his head drop onto them, exhausted. His voice was so low I could bare­ly hear him.
“You’re tearin’ my guts out, Clai­re.”

Some­thing very simi­lar was hap­pe­ning to my own. Ten­ta­tively, I came up behind him. He didn’t move, even when I slip­ped my arms around his waist. I rested my cheek on his bowed back. His shirt was damp, swea­ted through with the inten­si­ty of his pas­si­on, and he was trem­bling.
“I’m sor­ry,” I said, sim­ply. “Plea­se for­gi­ve me.” He tur­ned then, to hold me tight­ly. I felt his trem­bling ease bit by bit.
“For­gi­ven, lass,” he mur­mu­red at last into my hair. Releasing me, he loo­ked down at me, sober and for­mal.
“I’m sor­ry too,” he said. “I’ll ask your par­don for what I said; I was sore, and I said more nor I meant. Will ye for­gi­ve me too?” After his last speech, I hard­ly felt that the­re was any­thing for me to for­gi­ve, but I nod­ded and pres­sed his hands.



a sce­ne after this Batt­le added to the show (not from the books)


All rights for the Pic­ture of Claire go to the right­ful owner Starz/​Sony
Quotes and Excerpt by Diana Gabal­don from “Outlander“
Edit own by Swietjes Outlander and the last edit by safer​-place​.de

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

Be First to Comment

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *