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[nineteenfortyfive]

[A wedding may have come and gone, but the rents still needed to be collected. Except now, Claire felt safer. Protected. Silly words he had said that night, but sweet all the same. She has his name, now. No longer Claire Beauchamp--or Randall, for that matter--but Claire Fraser. It's a name she says over and over in her mind, astounded at how easily it fits. Claire Fraser. Jamie doesn't seem to mind it overmuch when her mind drifts and she catches herself staring off into nothingness, or staring right at him. And she's not terribly embarrassed by it anymore, either.

A cold, rainy night makes the roads too muddy for the horses to traverse and so Dougal diverts them to a small inn that hardly has enough room outside for the horses. There's grumbling about who gets rooms, because there's certainly not enough for everyone. Dougal and Ned, of course. And the married couple begrudgingly gets sent to the more private of bedrooms, though upon opening the door and looking at their home for the night, Claire isn't impressed.]

You're barely going to fit into that bed yourself, let alone the two of us. [She clicks her tongue as she takes the candle the inn keep had given her and goes to light the others in the room.]

[stripebacked]

[ He always imagined his wedding would be less complicated is probably the words he's looking for. But despite all the madness that did indeed circle his union he knows that deep in his heart there's not a soul he'd rather be wed to. Tied to for forever. Maybe this isn't ideal for her, but he knows that he'll do whatever he can to make sure she's happy. Break every bone in his body if it meant that she was taken care of and safe. It didn't matter. None of it.

Part of him does feel a wee bit sheepish about getting a bedroom. But it's no longer about himself now. It's about the two of them. He can't very well huddle up on the floor with his wife now can he? He won't ask that of her even if he does get some comments and looks from the other men. But he has to think for two now and no longer just one. Which means that he accepts the offer of the bedroom and together they trudge up there by the candlelight Claire has in hand. ]

It'll be a tight fit. No doubt.

[ Jamie's brows furrow as he studies the small bed before them. Part of him wonders if Dougal's is bigger, but that's hardly going to solve this issue. ]

Ye'll just have to sleep--on top of me. Or if ye'd like I could sleep on the floor.

[ Give her more space and the bed's comfort as well. It'll hardly be an inconvenience of any sort for him. ]

[nineteenfortyfive]

[Claire's thoughts aren't too different from his. This isn't what he deserves. He's a charming, strong, good young man that deserves a wife that isn't her. Someone younger, someone unwed, someone from his time. This might not be forever, and his heart might be broken, but she can at least focus on the present--and him. It's terrifyingly easy to do.]

You're not sleeping on the floor, Jamie.

[A look over her shoulder before she lights the last candle. No need for too much light. Best she not see all the dust in the room.]

We'll manage.

[Not that they don't sleep cuddled up as it is. Instead of her rolling onto grass, of course, the threat is rolling off the bed and onto the floor.]

Or we both sleep on the floor.

[stripebacked]

[ He doesn't speak yet. Instead he moves across the floor with heavy steps until he's next to the bed. The bottom of his boot touches the wood frame and he gives it a push. It wiggles under the weight and it doesn't look sturdy enough for him let alone the both of them. Which is why he reaches down to grab the bed roll from inside the frame. He grabs the material and gives it a sharp tug. Taking it out and laying it on the ground.

Another idea spawns and instead of giving it voice he goes over to one of the dusty cabinets along the wall and opens them. He grabs an extra blanket that gets a quick fanning as he lays it out on the floor. He grabs the bed roll once more and places it on top. In case she does happen to roll off at the very least she'll hit blanket and not the dirty floor. ]

Still alright wi' the floor, Claire?

[ He gives her a half smile. It's not really the floor now is it? All the important bits and pieces are there. More of a bed without a frame. ]

[nineteenfortyfive]

[She watches him kick up dust in the room, the candlelight flickering with each motion, but it's clear enough what he's doing. The floor is more than fine, really. They've been sleeping on rocks and grass and all manner of things when there were no rooms within a ride's reach while collecting rent. If it wasn't raining, that's where they'd be right now.]

You found us a bigger bed. Clever. [You must think on your feet if you're a man of his size and want to be comfortable. Smiling, Claire slips off her shoes and plops down on their new bed, skirts and all, looking like some sort of blown out flower.

A moment passes, and then she pats the spot next to her.]

[stripebacked]

Aye. [ He smiles with a tilt of his head. ] Big enough.

[ She is right though. Jamie's a bigger man. Even with just his height alone it's rare that he finds a bed outside of the ones in the castle that fit him. His feet tend to have off in some manner. It doesn't bother him as much as one would think, but right now he only wants Claire to be comfortable. As his wife now he needs to think of her above everything else. Which means when he sees a problem such as this one he has to put in time to fix it for her.

He watches her for a brief moment. Just looking over the way she sits and looks far too beautiful for a woman just caught in a rain storm. His chest tightens and he thinks for a moment. But he's shaken out when she pats a spot. He undoes his belt and sets it aside along with his weapons on the closest flat surface. Finally he joins her and turns towards Claire. ]

Do ye need me to warm ye up, Sassenach? Are ye cold?

[nineteenfortyfive]

[Easily, she takes his hands once he's sitting with her. She's grown fond of simply sitting beside him and touching, like this, unable to truly draw herself away for long. His hands are bigger, rougher, than her own--but incredibly gentle. And warm, even now.]

I'm all right. Thank you, Jamie.

[Always looking out for her. She smiles, looking down at their hands, and at the iron ring on her finger as she idly plays with his.]

[stripebacked]

[ He's always thought he had a fairly good grasp on the female mind, but the more time he spends alongside Claire proves to him that he's been on the wrong track. As have most of the male influences throughout his life. Claire never seems to be afraid to tell Jamie what she's thinking. Never afraid to give voice to her opinion and feelings. Sometimes exhausting, but usually necessary.

Though he doesn't really believe she's not cold. Even he's got a bit of a chill. But Claire she doesn't complain. If she does it's a rare occurrence. He watches her play with the ring he had fashioned for her. ]

Would ye let me hold ye? I've got a wee bit of a chill.

[ Married or not it's still a new thing for the two of them. Something that Jamie finds himself smiling about every morning when he wakes up to her in his arms. ]

[nineteenfortyfive]

[He's a Scottish highlander. He might feel chill, but there's no way it actually bothers him. Claire gives him a wry smile that lets him know damn well she sees what he's doing, but she's moving closer anyway, aiming to sit right on his lap.]

Oh, yes. Your nose is ice.

[More like her fingers are ice even with the hand holding, and she gives his nose a playful grab.]

[stripebacked]

[ She's not wrong. He certainly wouldn't admit to that out loud if given a second chance. He is indeed using it as a way to get her closer to him though. She turned down his first offer. Assuming he was just trying to warm her up. Since the wedding though the more he's around her it's getting increasingly difficult not to have her close to him. Not to have her body heat mingling with his own. He's desperate for her touch, but perhaps too stubborn to outright ask for it.

His smile grows when she plants herself in his lap. He gives a grunt at the sudden shift. Not at all bothered by it. It's what he was after anyways. Her back in his arms for the night.

Jamie lets out a loud sound when her icy fingers touch his nose. His face scrunches up and he reaches up to bat her smaller hand away gently. He leans in to rub his "cold" nose all over her face as he holds her close. ]

Ye should really warm it up then, Claire.

[nineteenfortyfive]

Shh, shh. [Claire laughs as she shushes him, both because she's replaying that noise he made and being attacked by his nose.] They'll think I'm doing all manner of things to you in here.

[Her nose is actually cold, chilled from the rain and pink from the chill, and she nuzzles it against his to steal his warmth.]

[stripebacked]

[ He hardly thinks that them listening on them now as they bunk for the night is any worse than them all congregating below on his wedding night. Though this time it's a little less sexual and a little more teasing.

But Jamie does smile because she's likely right. From the sounds he's made they'll probably very curious as to what's happening here. ]

Good. Let them. It'll keep them warm.

[ Jamie smiles and lets out a sigh as she starts to nuzzle. ]

Yer nose is ice, Claire.

[nineteenfortyfive]

[Her smile mirrors his own.]

Is it? I feel plenty warm.

[She tilts her head to give him a sweet kiss. She imagines that now and then he still hesitates or wonders if she might suddenly refuse him. So, she initiates it, and then begins to untie the stock knotted about his neck.]

But, if that's true, best you get cold, too.

the one where it's a nysa au;

[originallutece]

[There's another festival happening in Wyver.

Surely they must have jobs they tend to. Lives. Day to day activities that are interrupted by these constant festivals, and yet no one ever seems inconvenienced. It would drive her mad if she lived here, but luckily, Rosalind is only a visitor, and so can observe it all with a snobbish and amused air.

God only knows what they're meant to be celebrating this week; the moon or the stars or simply still being alive, but what it boils down to a deliberate excess of everything. Drugs and alcohol flow freely, passed out in little cups and colorful tabs. She's already had to decline twice, but now that she's entered a bar and gotten herself a whiskey people seem content to leave her be.

Sex is rampant as well, but that's little surprise. Something's in the air tonight, something that leaves everyone heated and reaching for one another. It's hardly the first time Rosalind's experienced something like this in Wyver, but it still leaves her squirming, pressing her legs tight together and ignoring the ache there.

She won't throw herself at a stranger. But she might amiable towards spending the evening with a friend, and perhaps she will, once this is over with. Perhaps she'll call one of her gentleman callers, or--

Oh. Oh, hello, and she turns, eyes focusing on the man who just walked in. She knows that man, that's--]

Jamie!

[She calls it out, pleased to see him here. She's not the only one who travels between cities, but she is in the minority there. It's nice to see a friend from Olympia here.]

[stripebacked]

[ He's not against festivals. In fact Jamie quite likes a good time. He likes the flow of drink and the sound of laughter roaring through the rooms. He's Scottish. If the room isn't completely packed, smelling of liquor and impossible to hear yourself think it's not a good gathering. These festivals though are quite different than the gatherings he's used to back home. But then again Jamie Fraser is a husband without a wife. Something he can endure though. He wasn't always married. He can only stay cooped up for so long.

It doesn't take a genius to put together that this festival is charged with something a little more. An energy that Jamie hasn't seen since his first journey here when he met Loras for that drink. He felt it in the air then and he immediately returned home once his mind clouded. But tonight he's not going to allow himself to flee behind a closed door. He's a grown man. He can enjoy himself. That's exactly what he continuous to tell himself throughout his walk to the tavern.

He has mates in Wyver and while he doesn't always come to see them that changes tonight. He hasn't quite met up with anyone, but that's fine. He's fine on his own. But those words are quickly shelved when he hears his name. His head whips around and there she is. It's reassuring to see her standing there. She's a friend, but she reminds him of home. The red hair and the way she carries herself. It's a great comfort to a man out of time.

Jamie's quick to approach with a warm smile. His gaze shifts about through the group of people before looking back at Ros. ]

I dinnae ken ye'd come all the way out here.

[originallutece]

I come once a month.

[She says, stupidly, and realizes just how that sounds a second later. But perhaps he won't notice; he's from a fair few years behind her, and hopefully he hasn't picked up too much slang in his time here. The flush in her cheeks (and the stupidity of her tongue) can be chalked up to both the drink in her hand and the way the air is thick and heavy tonight.

The bar is crowded, and though it's starting to get louder, it isn't overwhelming just yet. Someone bumps into her as they pass, and she steps towards him, standing a touch closer than strictly necessary. Better to be close to him than to be bumped or touched by some stranger.]

I didn't realize my arrival coincided with the celebrations, however. That was pure poor luck.

[stripebacked]

[ It's not like Jamie's got virginal ears, but he doesn't pick up on the double meaning that could possibly be behind those words. He spent a great deal of time in Paris when he was a mercenary. Not a time he's particularly proud of, but Jamie did become overly familiar with the women in a brothel. Not that familiar though. Too busy with his work and other matters. But Rosalind is a classy woman. He would never imagine she'd say such a thing.

But the flush does not go unnoticed. His brow cocks, but he doesn't comment on it. He instead simply smiles and listens. When she moves closer he gives the passing stranger a glare for the rudeness. He's never tolerated inconsiderate fools. He reaches out to put an arm around her for a moment as he turns to the passing stranger once she's spoken. ]

The polite thing t' say is excuse me, lad.

[ He's more than aware that Rosalind doesn't need a bloke to stick up for her, but it's still very terrible manners on that man's part. ]

[originallutece]

It's fine, Jamie.

[She doesn't say that because she's demure or polite. Quite the opposite, in fact. But she'd rather talk to him than have some drunken idiot take up more of her time. An irritated exhale leaves her as the man draws to a halt, glaring with a drunk's confidence.

What did you say, he demands, and Rosalind takes a step forward, pressing herself against Jamie.]

Leave it.

[stripebacked]

[ Perhaps if Rosalind had not pressed in that close he might have pushed it farther. He would have given the man a solid shove back into the crowds. But instead the warmth that radiates off her sends a soothing calmness through him. His jaw is tight and though he wants to reach over and shove the man how to behave he doesn't. His hand forms a fist, but it remains at his side. Nails digging into his palm as he stares over Rosalind at the man.

Finally he looks down at her. Very aware of how warm she feels and how close she is. But she's telling him to leave it. He has a Scottish temper and it's not often he manages to pull it back in. Instead of looking at the drunken inconsiderate buffoon he looks at her. He lets a short sigh and nods his head quickly. ]

Go on now. Vanish from our sights.

[originallutece]

[Behind her, the man grumbles, but the revelry is too bright and loud to pick a fight. Instead he turns, stumbling as he makes his way to the bar, and Rosalind exhales softly. Good.]

Thank you.

[She really hadn't wanted to spend tonight tending to cuts and bruises. Rosalind settles, shifting her weight and turning her attention back to him.

And that's . . . she blinks, suddenly aware of the fact they're pressed up together. It's nothing obscene, nothing vulgar, but still she's very much aware of all the places their bodies are touching. She's very aware that he's a foot taller than her, and that her shirt isn't buttoned all the ay up to her collar. She's aware of where his hand is, pressing against her back, rough fingers felt through thin cotton, and she notices how she feels muscle pressed against her body, hard and battle-worn.

It's awfully tempting to run her fingers over him. The thought pops into her head, lecherous and inappropriate. It isn't that she's so opposed to some kind of tryst, but she won't throw herself forward, not for any man.

But though courtesy dictates she take a step back, Rosalind doesn't. Not just yet.]

I'd tell you to buy me a drink, but I've beat you there.

[Though her whiskey is almost gone now, and she can feel it coursing through her, only adding to her heat.]

So perhaps I ought to buy you one, hm?

[stripebacked]

[ His sister would say he's a stubborn fool. Headstrong and willing to fight just about anyone that slights the people he's come to care for. And he does care for her. She helped him. She gave him aid when no one else did. She took care of Jamie. She brought him peace and comfort when his mind felt chaotic and broken. Perhaps she's not entirely Jenny, but she is something. A fond reminder of home. A friend he would happily stand up for it seems.

But they're still close. The man may be gone, but the closeness has not faded. They remain pressed together and Jamie has to hold his breath for a moment. It's not like he's never been near a woman before, but not quite like this. Laoghaire had been a lass, but a kiss was just a kiss. It was nothing more than that. Claire was the only woman he'd been this bloody close to for this long. This close to and let his mind run wild with curious and inappropriate thoughts.

When she speaks he focuses a bit more and he notes the buttons undone at the top of her shirt. But he doesn't linger on the sight. It'd be wrong. His heart seems to be trying to beat through his chest. He's almost certain she could feel it. ]

I wouldnae protest t' a drink.

[ He smiles at her, but he doesn't try to motion for anyone at the bar. He doesn't try to move away either. ]

Cannae drink alone though.

[originallutece]

No, I suppose not.

[A few seconds pass, and then, without taking her eyes off him, Rosalind puts her glass to her lips. One quick movement is all it takes to finish off her glass, and though he'll be able to feel her shudder, that's not such a bad thing right now.

The whiskey leaves a flush to her cheeks, and god, but that will go to her head soon, but that doesn't matter, not when she's acting a touch competitive.]

Go get us something. I'll be waiting.

[It's an order, and she raises an eyebrow, waiting to see if he'll obey it or not. Honestly, she isn't certain if she wants him to or not. Sometimes, what Rosalind wants more than anything is not to get what she wants.]

[stripebacked]

[ That shudder runs right through him. He's not had a solid female form pressed up to him in quite some time. Everything courses through him and it's a wee bit addicting to tell the truth. It leaves a warmth in the pit of his stomach that seems to spread outwards. Reaching into the deepest and darkest parts of his soul. Jamie doesn't seem to be in a rush to move away. He doesn't seem to be hurrying to put distance between them. He's content to be here with her.

If what she wants is refusal that's not difficult to obtain. Jamie's a little shit. Even on his worst days. Saying no simply because he was ordered isn't that difficult. He smiles at her and he gives her a look. He glances at the bar for half a second before he focuses right back on Rosalind. He doesn't seem to be racing over there to do as she ordered. Orders have never been a James Fraser specialty. ]

Yer a wee bit bossy.

[ The hand on the small of her back attempts to pull her in closer. The air feels heavier. Jamie's not sure why, but somehow leaning into this feeling is far better. ]

Ask a bit nicer.

[originallutece]

[Oh. Oh, and her breath catches, a subtle little thing that whispers yes even as she gears up to bicker. Her back arches beneath his tugging, and she willingly steps closer, her hands settling on his hips.]

If you're aiming to get me to say please, Jamie Fraser, you're going to have to try a little harder than that.

Are you going to obey or not?

[stripebacked]

[ He's an obstinate little shit. He has been since the day he was born. It's one of the things him and Jenny would often fight about. Jamie didn't seem to bend when he should have. He was a fool, but right now he's almost certain that bending isn't the right move. She's a woman that's grown quite used to getting exactly what she wants. If he was thinking that way he'd say it reminded him of Claire, but that's not really where his head is at right now. ]

I could make you say a great number of things, Rosalind. Please would certainly be one of 'em.

[ There's a smile that graces his lips. One that's assured and quite proud. He's a good man at his core, but that doesn't mean he doesn't have a bit of bark to his bite. ]

Like I said. If ye ask nicer I'd certainly consider it.