Chapter 25: Thou Shalt Not Suffer a Witch to Live (Part II)

In this half a chapter, important things happen, but let's talk about me instead.

Pardon my frustration at the end of the previous review. In part, I was annoyed by yet another poorly organized chapter. But I also wanted to split this review in half because this half of chapter 25 is meaningful to me personally, and I wanted to bracket it off.

Time to get confessional! Skip this entry if you don't like it when reviewers talk about themselves.

When I first saw Claire's confession in the Outlander TV series, I never imagined that I would relate to it personally. Then, my spouse came out to me as transgender. Out of nowhere. After eight years of marriage and two kids. I know it sounds like "I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant" levels of bullshit, but I really and truly had no idea. Things are ok between us. We are trying to make it work. But no joke, a gender transition in the middle of a marriage is a Big Fucking Deal.

Which is to say that I have been part of a dramatic coming out scene involving my beloved spouse in the very recent past, and I simply cannot read this scene in any other context. Jamie, man, I know we haven't always agreed, but I feel you here.

Rain pattered on the water, soothing my swollen face and the rope burns on my wrists.

Claire is in bad shape. Jamie patches her up as best he can, but she's both physically and emotionally battered.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled, dabbling my nose on a corner of the plaid. "I—I don't know what's wrong with me. I don't know why I can't stop crying."

Poor Claire. Jamie comforts her in his own way, which, per the usual, means talking about his own flogging. I guess it's nice that he has been through something similar? But maybe a little annoying that he always brings things back to himself?

"And when I stopped shaking, Sassenach," he said quietyly, "I thanked God for the pain, because it meant I was still alive." He let go, nodding at me. "When ye get to that point, lassie, tell me; for I've a thing or two I want to be sayin' to ye."

Blarg. On the one hand, I am not in the mood for Jamie scolding Claire for disobeying orders. Again. You can order people around as much as you like, Jamie, but so far, I haven't seen much evidence that your family members have any respect for your commands. Wheedling, charming, manipulating — that's what gets results.

On the other hand, lordy, do I know what it is like to stick a pin in your own concerns so that you can tend to a spouse in crisis. Even if I think Jamie's particular concern is a stupid one, I can give him the attaboy for triaging the situation and putting Claire's immediate needs first.

We learn that Alec, the Master of Horse, is the one who alerted Jamie to Claire's peril. Fuck Colum. Jamie goes off to hunt so they don't starve and Claire takes a nap. They roast some rabbits for dinner, which only reminds Claire of Geilie's death sentence. Then dark comes, and with it, revelations.

He sat staring into the fire for a long time. Finally he looked up at me, hands clasped around his knees.

Uh oh. I hate that moment of knowing that your spouse is working up nerve to say something. My spouse has a pretty reliable tell, a way of rubbing my knee in a particular pattern that never, ever means anything other than DANGER! DANGER!

"Claire, if you've never been honest wi' me, be so now, for I must know the truth. Claire, are ye a witch?"

Well, at least Jamie knows something is up.

"And if I were?" I asked through dry lips. "If you had thought I were a witch? Would you still have fought for me?"

"I would have gone to the stake with you!" he said violently. "And to hell beyond, if I must. But may the Lord Jesus have mercy on my soul and on yours, tell me the truth!"

This sounds nice, and all, but talk is cheap. I mean, yes, he did put himself between Claire and a mob, which is not nothing, but it's the sort of courage he has practice with. We're about to see if Jamie can handle the truth. Not everybody can.

Claire starts laughing hysterically, which is fair enough. Then, she starts rambling, covering topics such as her immunity to lockjaw, Jack Randall's birthday, and Hamish's paternity. Word vomit. Also, she calls Randall "John" — isn't he Jonathan?

Pro tip: If you ever need to come out to your spouse, cut out the page of incoherent rambling. It is best to lead with a short topic sentence. Be as clear as possible, and include only the essential information up top. For example, "I am a time traveler." You can fill in the details about your immunity to various diseases later on. Put yourself in your spouse's shoes; trying to process an impossible revelation is difficult enough when you don't have to wade through a sea of extraneous information. We haven't seen any of Jamie in these past few paragraphs, but I have a fair idea of what is going on in his mind. It only takes about half a second to imagine every possible worst case scenario, and that's usually covered in the pause between "I need to tell you something" and the straight-to-the-point revelation.

Finally, Claire gets enough a grip to say something intelligible:

"Do you know when I was born?" I asked, looking up. I knew my hair was wild and my eyes staring and I didn't care. "On the twentieth of October, in the Year of Our Lord nineteen hundred and eighteen. Do you hear me?"

That's still a bit wordy, but at least it's getting somewhere near the point.

"I hear," he said softly.

All this time spent hiding the truth, realizing that I could never tell anyone, and now I realized that I could tell Jamie, my beloved husband, the man I trusted beyond all others, and he wouldn't — he couldn't believe me.

As much sympathy as I have for Jamie in this situation, I have to point out that coming out is incredibly brave. Not knowing what your spouse will do, or even whether they will believe you at all, must be beyond wretched. It takes guts to tell the truth when the truth has so much potential to blow up your marriage and your safety.

I looked up at last, thinking that perhaps he had simply risen and left me, overcome by my revelations. He was still there, though, still sitting, hands braced on his knees, head bowed as though in thought. The hairs on his arms shone stiff as copper wires in the firelight, though, and I realized that they stood erect, like the bristles on a dog. He was afraid of me.

If I could say anything to Jamie in this moment, I would probably share a quotation that has been useful to me recently:

"Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom." - Viktor Frankl

Then, I would buy him a drink and commiserate. Because, well shit. The other fun thing about your spouse revealing their giant, life-altering secret to you is that you literally cannot talk to a single other person about it. Not your family. Not your friends. Not just because they won't really understand, but because you can't out your spouse to other people. You need a drinking buddy who has been where you are. And good fucking luck finding one. At least I can pay a therapist to listen to me.

"Jamie," I said, feeling my heart break with absolute loneliness. "Oh, Jamie."

But Jamie chooses the path of light.

"I believe you," he said firmly. "I dinna understand it a bit — not yet — but I believe you. Claire, I believe you! Listen to me. There's the truth between us, you and I, and whatever ye tell me, I shall believe it."

Forget all the Blood of My Blood stuff. This is what I need embroidered on a pillow. "I dinna understand it a bit — not yet — but I believe you." That is the foundation of a strong marriage, not the fancy vows.

This is particularly powerful because of the gender dynamics between Jamie and Claire. How many times in this book has a man ignored Claire? Or talked over her? Or overridden her decisions? To me, Jamie promising to listen to Claire and to believe what she tells him is far more important, romantic, and radical than any number of promises to protect her. I'm finally ready to begin forgiving him for the beating incident.

Jamie calms Claire. He reassures her. It is lovely. And yet, my heart is breaking for him. Because, having chosen a loving response, rather than rage or running away, Jamie has just learned a very hard lesson. Namely, that you, the supportive spouse, are deeply, heart-wrenchingly alone. You can't speak to anyone. You can't even speak freely to your spouse who, up until five minutes ago, was the one person you could burden with your sorrows. Your sobbing, terrified spouse needs you to cradle them. They need you to be strong. They need you to stroke their hair and tell them everything will be ok. They need to hear, "I believe you;" "I love you;" "I am still here." They don't need your weakness or your doubt or your pain. And that means you have to swallow, "Are you fucking kidding me?" and "Are you sure about this?" and "What the hell am I going to do now?" Hopefully, this is a temporary situation — once you've gotten past the initial conversation, you are going to need to be able to express ALL of your emotions, not just the supportive, affirming ones. If you can do that — get back to a place where you are both taking care of one another — your marriage has a shot at surviving. If not — if you love and support your spouse even when you are hurting, but can't dump your own shit on them — you are not a partner, you are a parent.

Jamie, pragmatist, asks a matter-of-fact question: How old is Claire? Turns out, it's her 28th birthday. Jamie is surprised and not entirely pleased, but never fear. Modern nutrition and vaccinations make 28 the new 18.

A long time later, he spoke.

"All right. Tell me now."

Oh, Jamie. You are a good listener. This chapter is making me like you way more than anything in previous chapters.

"Frank," he said softly. "then he isna dead after all."

"He isn't born." I felt another small wave of hysteria break against my ribs, but managed to keep myself under control. "Neither am I."

Shoutout here to Davina Porter, the narrator of the audiobooks, who plays both of these parts wonderfully, and delivers Claire's lines here with an exquisite near-hysteria.

"When I took ye from Randall at Fort William," he said suddenly, "you were trying to get back. Back to the stones. And . . . Frank. That's why ye left the grove."

"Yes."

"And I beat you for it." His voice was soft with regret.

Ok, this is a bit icky. Now that Jamie knows that Claire was trying to be a dutiful wife and return to her owner/husband, he feels bad about beating her. Gross.

They settle down to rest. Claire ask if Jamie really believes her.

"Aye, I believe ye, Sassenach. But it would ha' been a good deal easier if you'd only been a witch."

Amazing. Not only do I need this stitched on a pillow, I need it tattooed on my body.

Seriously. I'm getting a notecard to write this down and put it in my wallet right next to Viktor Frankl.

brb

In the morning, Jamie continues to take care of Claire. Gets her to eat, packs up camp, gets them moving. Claire is completely passive and I'm ok with that for once. She has been through a lot and is letting someone else take care of the nitty gritty details like, "Where are we going?" and "How will we get there without starving?" I imagine that Jamie is pleased to have some concrete things to focus on. They ride on for a few days, higher into the mountains.

He woke me sometime in the darkness and made love to me, slowly and tenderly, not speaking. I watched stars winking through the lattice of black branches overhead, and fell asleep again with his comforting weight still warm on top of me.

Interesting. The famous fingerbanging scene in the TV show read a bit differently. I somehow got the impression that Jamie wouldn't sleep with Claire once he knew she was still married to Frank. There's the whole thing where she keeps reaching for him to kiss him and he pulls away — playfully, but still, he avoids kissing her directly until the very end of that scene. 

One other thing: If you are having goodbye sex, I think both people should be in the know. Kind of not fair to have that be one-sided. One thing I wish Spouse had done differently in coming out to me is that I wish they had given me a chance to say goodbye to their beard. It was not a secret that I was a fan. But, instead, they shaved it clean and came out to me the same day. As in, "Why did you shave your beard?" "Because I'm a trans femme." Yeah, it was not great. So the last time I ran my fingers through the stubble, I didn't know it was the last time. It's a stupid little thing. But a sad one.

At some point, Claire realizes that they are headed for Craigh na Dun. She is not thrilled.

I swallowed hard. I had tried for nearly six months to reach this place. Now that I was here at last, I wanted to be anywhere else.

I mean, probably not Cranesmuir. Or Fort William. Or the Tolbooth. Really, I don't think you've thought this through.

Up at Craigh na Dun, Jamie tests the stones.

"Careful! Don't go too near it!" He glanced from me to the rock, clearly skeptical. Perhaps he was right to be. I felt suddenly doubtful of my own story.

Too real. This is a major fear of mine: that any skepticism or negativity on my part will encourage self-doubt. It is a real problem.

They discuss possible logistics of time travel. Is it only women who can travel? Only on certain days? Only certain people?

Jamie gets impatient and grabs Claire's wrist, forcing her to touch the stone. I get it, Jamie. You are holding yourself together with threads and can't bear to draw this out any longer than it needs to go. But tone down the grabbing FFS.

Chaos reached out and grabbed me. 

The sun stopped whirling behind my eyes at last, and the shriek faded out of my ears. There was another persistent noise, Jamie calling my name.

Ok, well, at least now he believes her completely. Not that he didn't before, but anyone would be a teeny bit skeptical. 

Jamie tries the stones for himself, but nothing happens. Are we ever going to find out exactly why Claire (and the other travelers) is special? I wonder what Jamie is thinking here. For him, with his classical education, the parallels would probably be most striking in tales of demigods and mortals. So, Claire is Helen, Jamie is Menelaus, and Frank is Paris? Maybe? Perhaps the other way around, at least from Frank's perspective.

An interesting note on navigation: Claire could perceive both Frank and Jamie when she was in the void. She "had been thinking of Frank" and experienced him as "a tiny pinprick of light." So perhaps she can navigate from one place to another. Though how she got to 1743 in the first place is still up for debate. Was she thinking of Black Jack? If so, can focusing on anybody in a particular time draw you to that time? Or does it have to be someone you have a relationship with?

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.

He's not sweating, dumbass.

The moment is upon us:

"My lady," he said softly. "My . . . Claire. It's no use waiting. I must part wi' ye now."

"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 you're used to. And . . . and Frank."

"There's nothing for ye on this side, lass! Nothing save violence and danger. Go!"

In all of this, Jamie refuses to say explicitly that he loves her. Claire probes, she asks, but he holds back. This is understandable. He wants to give her the freest choice he can, not influencing her to stay. But it gives me all the sads.

He does give her a choice, though. He tells her to leave, but points out the ruined cottage where he will make camp. He promises to stay there until evening "to be sure that you're safe." But, really, he's not doing any protecting from down at the bottom of the hill. Just giving Claire the chance to choose him if she wants to.

"Goodbye," he said, and turned to go.

Then, Claire's all, hey, hold on a minute, buddy. I have some important info about the Rising and whatnot. And Jamie's all, are you serious here? I am struggling to control my emotions and do the whole "if you love her set her free" thing and you want to talk about my shitty uncles and their political shenanigans?

"Claire . . . no. I can't." The wind was bringing the moisture to his eyes.

Goddammit, Claire, stop attributing Jamie's emotions to meteorological phenomena. Let the man fucking cry.

"Jamie, stay out of it!" I begged him. "Keep your people out of it if you can, but for the Lord's sake . . . Jamie, if you—" I broke off. I had been going to say "Jamie, if you love me." But I couldn't. I was going to lose him forever, and if I could not speak of love to him before, I could not do it now.

Good save, Claire.

Jamie walks away, not looking back. Now, Claire really must decide for herself. She makes lots of pro-con lists and tries to sort out her feelings. She spends hours and hours thinking and weeping. But, in the end, how does Claire make decisions? Not rationally. Not emotionally. Physically! 

As the evening star began to glow among the black pine branches, I concluded that in this situation reason was of little use. I would have to rely on something else; just what, I wasn't sure. I turned toward the split rock and took a step, then another, and another. Pausing, I faced around and tried it in the other direction. A step, then another, and another, and before I even knew that I had decided, I was halfway down the slope, scrabbling wildly at grass clumps, slipping and falling through the patches of granite scree.

For better or worse, Claire has fully embraced matter over mind.

She goes to the cottage, where she finds Jamie asleep on a bench. Good job, Starz, keeping the drying tears on his face in the TV series. Essential.

For some reason, Claire decides that surprising Jamie is the way to go here. She snuggles up to him and he embraces her in his sleep. Of course, he eventually wakes enough to be surprised and they fall over onto the floor. And then lots of kissing.

In response to Jamie's "Why?" Claire goes with, "I had to." How about, "I love you"? Christ on a cracker.

"You don't know how close it was. The hot baths nearly won." And I wept then, and shook a little, because the choice was so freshly made, and because my joy for the man I held in my arms was mingled with a tearing grief for the man I would never see again.

This is all good. The ambivalence is speaking to me.

As they snuggle, Claire tells Jamie that starlight takes thousands of years to reach Earth, and that sometimes the stars that emit the light are dead by the time the light reaches us. This sounds like it is meant to mean something, but I guess my brain is done with this damn chapter, because I've got nothing. Something about time lapse and reality and perception, no doubt, but I can't get a firm grip on it.

"Lay your head, lass," he whispered. "In the morning, I'll take ye home."

And with that, the chapter . . . 

CONTINUES???????????

God God Damn Damn Damn. Diana Gabaldon, Queen of Drop-the-Mic-and-Inexplicably-Pick-It-Back-Up-Again.

In the morning, they head off for whatever home Jamie has in mind.

"I wish I could have fought him for you,"

says Jamie, continuing with the Iliad parallels.

"If I'd fought him man to man and won, ye'd not need to feel any regret over it."

Well, that's one theory. A pretty stupid theory, but thanks for sharing.

Jamie:

"I'll never understand why."

Claire:

 "I bloody well can't do without you, Jamie Fraser, and that's all about it."

Look, I respect the decision to be sparing with the "I love yous." But at this point, it's becoming a bit of a thing. I get that Claire's feelings are complicated. Saying "I'm here because I love you" implies that you don't really love Frank. But come on. You chose to stay. You still can't tell Jamie you love him? There was that one time, but it was not a serious declaration. Now I'm super curious to see what, if anything, might spur Claire into a sincere declaration of love.

"I prayed all the way up that hill yesterday," he said softly. "Not for you to stay; I didna think that would be right. I prayed I'd be strong enough to send you away."

Thanks, Jamie. I think most of us got that already from reading the scene, but thanks for making it explicit. This reminds me of all the voiceovers in the TV series that just narrate the emotions we are already seeing onscreen. 

"Hardest thing I ever did, Sassenach . . . So now I suppose I can do the second-hardest thing."

Which is go home. To Lallybroch.

Two final thoughts:

1) Parts of this chapter meant a lot to me personally.

2) Fuck this chapter. The organizational issues are ridiculous.

Body Count:

Jamie: 5 + assorted redcoats + two years as mercenary in France

Claire: 1

Chapter 25: Thou Shalt Not Suffer a Witch to Live (Part I)

In this chapter, a question of anachronism, an unlikely hero, and a revelation.

Claire has been captured. The mob dumps her and Geillis into the damp, dark "thieves' hole" to await trial.

With nothing to do but shiver and dodge the occasional filth thrown at them by the villagers, Claire asks Geillis about what they might expect at the trial. Geillis doesn't know, but opines that the examiners will probably not bring a "witch-pricker."

At this point, my anachronism senses are tingling. I don't know much about Scottish history, but I do know American history, and one of the things to remember about the Salem witch hysteria was how late it was in the history of witchcraft trials in the Anglophone world. Google confirms this suspicion — there was a report of a witch convicted and executed in Scotland in the 1720s, but the laws against witchcraft were changed in the 1730s. Of course, people in a backwater like Cranesmuir didn't change their beliefs quickly, but the formal trial before examiners is unlikely.

In any case, this is historical fiction, not a historical monograph. The point is that Claire is stuck in a place where people do believe in the occult (regardless of the law), and where her 20th-century beliefs/morals/worldview are likely to get her in trouble. So I don't think the exact chronology of witchcraft trials is particularly important. What's important (narratively) is that Claire is in danger because she has acted without adequate respect for the place and time in which she currently resides.

And Claire herself does voice some skepticism along these lines:

I vaguely recalled something of this from Frank's books, but had thought it a practice common to the seventeenth century, not this one. On the other hand, I thought wryly, Cranesmuir was not exactly a hotbed of civilization.

So there you have it. The point of this witch trial is not that someone living in 1743 would be particularly likely to be tried as a witch. Instead, it highlights both Claire's precarious position and the discrepancy between a synthetic historical overview and the specifics of a particular time and place. I'm fine with both those points.

And this one:

"Ye still dinna understand, do ye?" she said. "They mean to kill us. And it doesna matter much what the charge is, or what the evidence shows. We'll burn, all the same."

Claire is still thinking of things as they should be, rather than as they are. There shouldn't be a witch trial in 1743. A British officer shouldn't try to rape a captive. People shouldn't fall through rifts in time. And yet, here we are. 

I'm actually glad the novel makes this point. Claire has adapted to 18th-century life in some ways (norms of privacy, personal comfort, food, etc.), but, in other ways, she has held onto her 20th-century beliefs (women are people, fairies are bullshit, etc.). I'm glad that the novel is punishing her here, not because it is fair, but because it's true that you can't just run around being awesome in Cranesmuir without offending the people who live there and drawing attention to yourself. This whole episode holds her accountable for acting as boldly as she does, and forgetting where she is and who she's dealing with.

Geillis suspects that Colum didn't really mean for Claire to be caught up in the trap he set for Geillis. Wrong place, wrong time. Claire should get that stitched on a pillow. Of course, it wasn't entirely an accident — Laoghaire put Claire in the mob's path by sending her to Geillis when she did.

"How did you know it was Laoghaire?" I asked, shivering.

"'Twas her that left the ill-wish in your bed," Geillis replied. "I told ye at the first there were those minded your taking the red-haired laddie. I suppose she thought if ye were gone, she's have a chance at him again."

Stupid Laoghaire. Trying to murder Claire. After all this, I had exactly zero sympathy for the pregnant, teenage diabetic on Season 4 of Call the Midwife, played by Nell Hudson. No one cares about your dangerous pregnancy, Laoghaire. Note: I'm sure that Nell Hudson is a lovely person and will enjoy hanging out with Jack Gleeson and Tom Felton for the rest of her life.

Somehow, Claire has gotten it into her head that Laoghaire is pregnant by Dougal MacKenzie. This seems a really big leap from what she saw while eavesdropping on landing outside Colum's library. Then again, Claire does lose about 25 IQ points whenever puzzling over pregnancy (her own or anyone else's).

Geillis sets her straight: Laoghaire isn't Dougal's pregnant lover. Geillis is. And Colum is taking care of the situation by getting rid of her.

We learn that Geillis tried to kill Arthur Duncan through slow poisoning, but it didn't work. She killed him at the banquet because he had seen her pregnant belly in her dressing room and could have denounced her. Also, Geillis didn't kill Ofdougal, but she would have if she hadn't died so fortuitously.

So she had taken her preventative measures, and Colum had taken his. And here was I, caught up in the middle.

Not so fast, missy. You're here because we need a narratively satisfying way of reinforcing that you are in a dangerous place and can't just run around ignoring good advice and acting like a secular person from the 20th century without consequences. You're not just a dolphin in Colum's tuna net.

News: Geillis is a Jacobite. In the past two years, she has diverted 10,000 pounds from Arthur Duncan's office to the Stuart cause. In fact, she implies that Dougal wasn't really a Jacobite before she got to him.

Wait, TEN THOUSAND POUNDS? How much money passes through the fiscal's office in this podunk village?

"No great matter. I've managed a good deal in the time I had; ten thousand pounds diverted to France, and the district roused for Prince Charles. Come the Rising, I shall know I helped. If I live so long."

Count Geillis among those who think that individual actions can change the future.

Things are looking bleak for our Heroine. Never more so than when Geillis asks Claire for an honest answer:

"Do ye love the man, then? . . . Really love him, I mean," Geilie persisted. "Not just want to bed him; I know you want that, and he does too. They all do. But do you love him?"

Did I love him? Beyond the urges of the flesh? The hold had the dark anonymity of the confessional, and soul on the verge of death had no time for lies.

"Yes," I said, and laid my head back on my knees."

I'm not quite sure what Geillis is getting at when she replies, "So it's possible." What's possible? Love? Or something about the time travel?

The trial begins. There is plenty of evidence against Geillis, who is, in fact, a murderous, spell-casting abortionist. Claire is feeling pretty safe until the mother of the changeling baby steps forward. See, Claire, you can't just go around trampling all over the locals with your 20th-century ways. 

Then, there's Peter the drover, who saw Claire with the waterhorse. To be fair, that was not Claire's fault. And the judges don't believe him anyway. But it still looks bad to everyone else. And even though the bulk of the evidence is against Geillis, Claire is implicated just by their friendship.

Then here comes Father Bain, being a creepy asshole. He reveals the festering dogbite that he wouldn't let Claire tend.

"Jesus Christ, man!" I said, shocked at the sight. "You've got blood poisoning. You need it tended, and right now, or you'll die."

The assembly interprets this as yet another curse, and things are not looking good.

This, I thought cynically, trying to still my panic, was surely where the dashing young hero was meant to ride through the crowd, beating back the cringing townspeople and scooping the fainting heroine up onto his saddle.

Hoofbeats! But instead of Jamie with a sword, it's Ned Gowan with a brain.

With a bow to the judges and another, no less formal, to myself, Mr. Gowan drew himself still straighter than his normal upright posture, braced both thumbs in the waist of his breeks, and prepared with all the romanticism of his aged, gallant heart to do battle, fighting with the law's chosen weapon of excruciating boredom.

This is delightful. Ned drones on and on, stalling and letting the crowd's bloodlust cool. He talks all afternoon, until the judges get tired and dismiss the court until the next morning.

Ned manages to get a few minutes alone with Claire. He brings her food, drink, and some hope that he will be able to beat the charges.

"What we must do is to play upon the fact of your Englishness—and hence your ignorance, ye ken, not your strangeness—and draw matters out so long as we may. Time is on our side, ye see, for the worst of these trials take place in a climate of hysteria, when the soundness of evidence may be disregarded for the sake of satisfyin' blood-hunger."

This is a good plan! 

There was one thing I needed to know.

"Mr. Gowan—did Colum send you to help me?"

This is your one question? Not, 'Oh, hey, Ned, you're doing really well and all, but do you think maybe you could send someone to find Jamie? Just in case?'

I suppose he wouldn't get there in time. But still, probably worth a shot.

And, in fact, Colum did not send Ned to help Claire. So screw him.

Chances were that Colum had forbidden anyone to come down to the village, for fear of being caught up in the witch-hunt.

Eh, probably to keep the castle inhabitants from rescuing either of you. How does your mind not go immediately to the worst-case scenario, Claire? Has Colum not been dastardly enough yet?

Next morning, the judges pronounce,

"We find ourselves unable to determine guilt solely on the basis of the evidence presented."

Yay!

"trial by water"

Boo!

The villagers get all worked up again, but Claire has had it with their bullshit and starts shouting back.

"Do I dare refuse to be drowned? Too right I do!"

I would have thought she was signing her death warrant by talking back, but in fact, the order to have her whipped probably delays the drowning, so not a bad idea.

Through a daze of disbelief, I heard a collective inhalation, presumably of shocked dismay—in truth of anticipatory enjoyment. And I realized just what hate really meant. Not theirs. Mine.

Claire Hulks out and starts kicking fools. Unfortunately, there are a lot of them. They strip her to the waist and bind her for whipping. All this

filled me with a hatred and humiliation I could not even have imagined.

Now, granted, this is terrible. But I am a lot less angry reading this than I was when Jamie beat Claire. They are miserable fools attacking her. He is her husband and he betrayed her. Fuck the patriarchy. 

The whipping itself is . . . not as bad as she expected? The guy holding the whip is not into it and is doing his best not to hurt Claire too badly. And she's doing pretty well with her mind-over-matter approach, "trying for all I was worth to be somewhere else." Of course, she is still bound and naked, so that's humiliating, but he's not hurting her any more than Jamie did, and I'm not even sure if she is actually more humiliated now than she was then. I'd think it would be way worse to be beaten by your husband in hearing distance of lots of people you know well than by a stranger in front of other strangers.

And then,

"Claire!"

Jamie's there, as Claire notes, the Patton to her McAuliffe. I was going to give Claire a fist bump for that historical reference, but then I remembered that she was actually in France during Bastogne, so not really a historical analogy for her. (Also, editor, it's McAuliffe, not MacAuliffe).

Then this silliness:

"Claire! Stand still!" 

. . . The blur struck my face with a clattering sting and the black beads fell on my shoulders as the jet rosary, flung bola-style, neatly ringed my neck.

Good call cutting this, TV adapters.

Jamie's doing pretty well here, even though his plan does involve inviting the entire crowd to ogle Claire's bare flesh simultaneously. But he can't make a clean getaway. In the end, it's Geillis, sacrificing herself by confessing to witchcraft and exonerating Claire, that lets Claire and Jamie make a break for it.

Poor Geillis. Not a very sympathetic character, but it's still sad to have her turned over to the howling mob. I do hope that the baby buys her enough time to figure a way to evade execution. Would Dougal help her? Maybe if he was pissed enough at Colum. I can't see him charging in from noble motives, but I can see him raging at his brother. Oooh, what if the baby's a boy? All Dougal's legitimate children are girls. That could make things very interesting indeed.

In any case, Jamie is getting the hell out of there. He hauls Claire out, too, but there's just that one last thing:

For I hadn't stood frozen at the revelation of Geilie's pregnancy. It was something else I had seen that chilled me to the marrow of my bones. As Geilie had spun, white arms stretched aloft, I saw what she had seen when my own clothes were stripped away. A mark on one arm like the one I bore. Here, in this time, the mark of sorcery, the mark of a magus. The small, homely scar of a smallpox vaccination.

That's good drama. Maybe not great writing (how did Claire notice the smallpox scar at any distance when Geillis was spinning around like that?), but a delicious slice of adventure genre cake.

And thus ends a chapter . . . 

GOD DAMN IT

The chapter is over. It is done. The action has concluded. There was even a thunderclap of revelation. Just let it go! This new thing that is happening now is a DIFFERENT CHAPTER. 

I can't. I'm sorry. I'm splitting this review into two parts.

Body Count:

Jamie: 5 + assorted redcoats + two years as mercenary in France

Claire: 1

Chapter 24: By the Pricking of My Thumbs

In this bland, flabby casserole of a chapter, 1,001 loosely-related things happen at Castle Leoch.

We open with Claire and Jamie drinking toasts with well-wishers in Colum's hall. Actually, Jamie is doing most of the drinking. Claire seems mostly bored. Luckily, she's sitting next to Geillis, who is happy to say whatever inappropriate thing pops into her head.

"I ken the look of a lass that's been well bedded." She glanced toward the archway where Jamie had disappeared. "And damned if I think those are midge bites on the laddie's neck either." She raised one silver brow at me. "If it was a business arrangement, I'd say ye got your money's worth."

Claire is half exasperated, half enjoying herself when Jamie comes back in to deliver some bad news to Colum and Dougal. Dougal's wife, Ofdougal, has died. Sad! I guess!

Claire and Jamie discuss Dougal's marriage, which was "a matter more of lands and business than the wanting of each other."

I wondered whether this was Jamie's idea of marriage; separate lives, joining only infrequently for the breeding of children.

Not really. Jamie's parents married for love, against the wishes of their families, and Jamie bumbles around, getting close to actually articulating his feelings for Claire. Just say it already, goddamnit.

But Claire, of course, does not want to hear that Jamie loves her. Because she's leaving. Or something.

I wanted more than anything to turn to him, offer him comfort, assure him with body and words that what lay between us was more than a business arrangement. It was the truth of it that stopped me.

Sorry, Claire. You can't have a whole chapter of being carried across thresholds and accepting perfectly-fitting wedding rings and expect to come out of it with your emotional distance intact.

Things are getting a little earnest when Old Alec turns up with his "wicked-looking pair of gelding shears." Epic cockblock, Alec.

Claire and Jamie make plans to meet up later in the hayloft because I guess Claire doesn't have work to do anymore? Give yourselves some time to recuperate, at least. 

But they're young and in love and enjoying a sweet cuddle when wee Hamish walks into the stable and heads straight for the most dangerous horse in all the land. Jamie gallantly goes to save his little cousin from getting his head caved in. They have a cozy, familial chat that reminded me that neither of them has a brother to talk with. Claire, of course, is eavesdropping. 

Hamish wanted to ride the dangerous horse, Donas, to impress some older boys. Jamie promises to help him out while, at the same time, keeping him from breaking his neck. Awww.

Eventually, Hamish feels comfortable enough with Jamie to bring up some of the little-boy fears he can't discuss with his father or uncle.

"I've heard my father was a good rider," Hamish offered tentatively, after a moment's silence. "Before — before he couldn't anymore."

Jamie hears the real question and assures Hamish that his father is a very brave man.

Hamish asks Jamie if he minds being married, and Jamie treads the fine line of talking to Claire through his answers to his cousin, assuring Hamish that he is quite pleased in his marriage.

Apparently, the horse sex thing is a common misconception among the Highland lads:

"He-said-ye-must-serve-a-lass-like-a-stallion-does-a-mare-and-I-didna-believe-him-but-is-it-true?"

Claire's about ready to roll out of the hayloft laughing, but Jamie keeps it together and it's all very sweet. 

It's clear from this that Jamie is good with kids. That fact is not lost on Claire, who starts fretting about the possibility of getting pregnant.

Because of my earlier difficulties in conceiving, I had not considered the possibility of pregnancy when I agreed to marry Jamie, and I waited in some apprehension until my monthly occurred on time.

Other things Claire did not consider:

1. male infertility
2. the small likelihood of getting pregnant when you have had sex only on ten random days spread out over a period of six years

And then, a story about how dumb little Hamish forgot to shut the horse in his stall properly, forcing Jamie to chase said horse into the loch. Kids. Cute, but more of a hassle than you probably need right now.

Then, Claire and Jamie find an ominous bouquet of thorns, wilted plants, and black thread under Claire's pillow. Jamie tosses it out the window and tells Claire it was a nasty joke, but we know better.

Claire dreams of butterflies and wakes up to oral. It's like heaven.

Claire spends the day digging herbs and tending to minor injuiries. Her workroom is tidy, her patients are on the mend, and she suddenly realizes that she is happy.

I felt immediately ashamed and disloyal. How could I bring myself to be happy, when Frank must be demented with worry?

She imagines Frank searching for her, going to the police, eventually giving up hope (I see now where the Frank scenes in the TV show were born — I appreciate the fleshed-out versions).

Deep down, I knew I must soon make some kind of decision, but I had delayed, putting off the necessity from day to day and hour to hour, burying my uncertainties in the pleasures of Jamie's company — and his arms.

Didn't she choose Jamie explicitly at the end of the last chapter. What was all that wedding ring stuff and "Frank never did find that out" sex about if it was not a decision? 

And here's Jamie, hobbling into the surgery after injuring his ankle riding Donas. If we are going to be investigating supernatural talents, I want to know how Jamie manages to get injured at such strategic moments. Not only does he activate all Claire's healing feels, he also gets out of work for a while.

[Alec]: "I'll no expect ye in the stables tomorrow. Keep to your bed, laddie, and, er . . . rest."

"Why is it," I demanded, looking after the crusty old horsemaster, "that everyone seems to assume we've no more on our minds than to get into bed with each other?"

I dunno, maybe the lunchtime nookie in the stables, plus the screaming at night and the visible bites and scratches?

"For one thing, we've been married less than a month," he observed. "For another—" He looked up and grinned, shaking his head. "I've told ye before, Sassenach. Everything ye think shows on your face."

Hold up: They've been married less than a month? Back in Chapter 15, Claire mentioned that they were married six weeks after she arrived in 1743. So if they've been married less than a month, it's sometime before mid-July and she has been in the 18th century for (at most) two and a half months. But just a couple of pages ago, she said she'd been gone "upwards of four months." Can we get a continuity editor here? It's a time travel book. The chronology is important.

I spent the next morning ministering to the rather demanding needs of my solitary patient.

Hmmmph.

Despite the rain and Jamie's bum ankle, they head up to roof to watch the rain and chat about Lallybroch. Things are still unsettled betwen Jamie and his sister, and he means to go home to set things right, even if he is still an outlaw. But maybe the Duke of Sandringham will help him with a pardon! Seems like a long shot.

Claire tries to tell Jamie not to trust Sandringham because he's in cahoots with Black Jack Randall. But Jamie misinterprets her warning, thinking she meant to warn him that Sandringham is both gay and lecherous. Which he already knew. We'll get to that.

Claire brings up the rumor that Jamie is Hamish's father, wondering whether the rampant speculation is what made Jamie leave Leoch when he was 16. Jamie dismisses this, but considers the possibility that Colum might not know the real reason he left.

"Well, I'd best see that he finds out, then."

This sets up another infodump. Lot of stories about Jamie's childhood recently. Beginning to wonder whether he's being ostentatiously forthcoming as a way of asking Claire about her background without actually asking. Inviting her to chime in with her own stories. Which, of course, she does not do.

But before we get to that, Father Bain gets bitten by some dogs and won't let Claire help him.

"What, a man o' God to expose his pairsonal parts to the handling of a wumman? Weel, I'll tell ye, madam, I've no notion what sorts of immorality are practiced in the circles you're accostumed to move in, but I'll have ye to ken that such'll no be tolerated here — not sae long as I've the cure of the souls in this parish!"

DIAF, Father Bain.

Claire finally tells Jamie to take a nap so she can get some damn work done. She putters in her surgery for a while, enjoying some alone time. Old Alec shows up and Claire offers him some whisky and a massage to help with his rheumatism. He accepts and repays her kindness by laying out the story of Ellen MacKenzie and Brian Fraser.

Every time anyone mentions Ellen, she sounds like a BAMF and I'm sad we'll never get to meet her.

Ellen was Colum and Dougal's big sister. After their father died, the boys bullied their younger sister,  15-year-old Jocasta, into marrying into Clan Cameron for an alliance, but Ellen told them where to get off. She refused their hand-picked suitors and ran off with Black Brian Fraser.

"I heard tell later as they'd met at the Gathering, taken one look and decided on the spot as there could be none other for wither one o' them. So they laid their plans and they stole awa', under the noses of Colum MacKenzie and three hundred guests . . . They'd decided the only way to manage was to hide until Ellen was wi' child, and big enough that there'd be no question whose it was. Then Colum would have to give his blessing to the marriage, like it or no—and he didn't."

People really did force marriages this way in the 18th century. Some American historians have argued that young people in the 18th century used pre-marital sex and pregnancy to force their families to agree to the marriages they chose for themselves. Check out these statistics from Massachusetts, showing how the percentage of first babies born within nine months of marriage increased from the mid-17th century to the mid-18th. For example, in Hingham, Massachusetts, 100% of first babies were born after the nine-month mark in the 1640s and 1650s. By 1700-1720, that was down to 82.6%, and it dropped to 61.8% by the 1750s. And that's New England — rates of premarital conception were much higher in England. Of course, not all of these couples were young lovers hoping to pressure their parents — some were unlucky enough to be forced into marriages they would not have chosen if not for pregnancies. But the argument is that the change over time indicates a change in the young people found marriage partners, the process becoming less parent-driven in the 18th century than it had been in the 17th.

In any case, Ellen and Brian were married and moved into Lallybroch a week before their first child was born.

Alec falls asleep, but this chapter keeps on rolling.

Claire goes to get a book from Colum's library. Instead, she eavesdrops on a nasty little spat between Colum and Dougal. Dougal has done something stupid, and sex-related:

[Colum]: "If the brothers MacKenzie have but one cock and one brain between the two of them, then I'm glad of my half of the bargain!"

Claire decides she's heard enough and turns to go, but hears someone coming and hides behind a tapestry.

Colum and Dougal have calmed down a bit, but are still snapping, Colum making reference to Geillis Duncan and saying, "I'll attend to it." Then, they casually joke about the Duke of Sandringham's interest in Jamie. Colum tells Dougal he will go off hunting with Sandringham and Jamie so he'll be "out of the way" while Colum "settle[s] matters here."

Claire peeks out of her hiding place to see that the other eavesdropper is Laoghaire, carrying a tray. She skedaddles, but leaves the tray, and Claire picks it up, pretending that she was just bringing refreshments all along.

Claire hangs out in the library for a while. Through the library window, she witnesses Hamish trying to jump his new horse:

He seemed to do it just as the others had, and yet something happened. Perhaps a hesitation by his rider, a too-hard pulling on the reins, or a not-quite-firm seat. For the front hooves struck the wall just a few inches too low, and horse, rider and all, somersaulted over the wall in the most spectacular parabola of doom I had ever seen.

Don't worry! Hamish is ok! So is the horse. Not sure how Jamie will be once Colum finds out he's the one who let Hamish ride this horse. Claire should also have a care:

"You care for him as though he were your own, don't you?" I asked.

The grey eyes blazed suddenly into mine with the most extraordinary expression of alarm . . .

"Yes," he said simply.

Here's another vote for families made by choice, not by biology. So far, this novel makes a very strong case that neither blood ties nor legal formalities are as important as the vows people choose to make and keep. Claire, Hamish, and wee Roger are all beloved children of their adoptive/putative parents. Some legal marriages are shams (like Geilie's) and some are just precursors to actual commitment (Claire and Jamie).

Speaking of blood ties, Claire has somehow convinced herself that the argument she overheard involved Dougal seducing Laoghaire, and Colum promising to get her to Geillis for an abortion. The abortion part seems reasonable, but how did she get Laoghaire involved? Just because she ran for it when she realized what she was hearing? That hardly proves that she's the one who's pregnant.

Claire spends dinner that night musing on the different "facial types" on display like the good eugenicist she probably is. While she's busy sorting her companions into Picts, Gauls, Normans, Saxons, and Norsemen based on the shapes of their skulls, the company starts reminiscing about the last time the Duke of Sandringham visited.

"Sandringham? Ah, old Willie the arse-bandit," said Ned, meditatively.

They spend some time ribbing Jamie for being the object of the Duke's desire:

[Dougal]: "Ye were a pretty lad at sixteen, Jamie."

Jamie nodded, chewing. "Aye. Fast, too."

Then we all sit back to hear the tale of how the Duke got very close to raping 16-year-old Jamie on multiple occasions, but was ultimately foiled by Jamie's successful plan to drink a whole bottle of "syrup of figs" to give himself explosive diarrhea.

Cool story, Jamie.

Rupert warns that the Duke's servant is rapist, too! So I'm super glad we're going to meet all these people soon.

At least now Colum knows the real reason Jamie left Leoch. It strikes me again that Jamie does not speak of his near-rapes with any particular outrage or disgust. In fact, this time it's all high good humor.

Next day, Jamie and Alec rush into Claire's study all excited and appraising her arms and hands. Why? A mare is having difficulty foaling and they want Claire to reach inside and turn the foal. Claire is a little reluctant, but lathers up and does her best. This is a long story and I'm not quite sure what it has to do with anything. Short version: Claire turns the foal, which is born safely, and everyone is very happy. Even Claire, who feels the contentment of a job well done.

Next up: sexy anatomy lessons for Jamie.

"I like to hear the Latin names for things; I never dreamed it would be so pleasant to make love to a physician."

That goes just about as you would expect.

Later, Geillis making a nuisance of herself in the surgery. She invites Claire on an herb-gathering mission to the nearby forest.

"Why not?"

Nope, can't think of a single reason why that might be a bad idea.

Geillis notices the ill-wish bundle, which Claire (stupidly) retrieved after Jamie threw it out the window. Geillis promises to help Claire figure out who left it, no doubt by making polite inquiries among the kitchen staff.

Geilie's figure disappeared into the bracken above me, as I paused to scrape a bit of aspen bark into my basket. The globules of dried sap on the papery bark looked like frozen drops of blood, the deep crimson refulgent with trapped sunlight.

DON'T MIND US. JUST SOME INNOCENT BLOODFIRE TREES, TRYIN' TO GROW HERE, NOT PORTENDING ANY SORT OF DOOM.

Then, the changeling incident. Claire hears a baby and tries to save it, but Geillis explains that the people here believe a sick infant is a fairy changeling and expose it so that the fairies will take it back. Claire, showing an alarming lack of self-preservation instinct, decides to act like she's not A) in the 18th century, B) in Backwardevenfornow-ville C) in the company of a suspected witch. She tries to tend to the baby, but even Geillis knows a bad scene when she sees one and drags Claire away. Claire keeps whining, and Geillis loses her cool:

"You bloody pig-headed English ass!" she shouted at me. "There's nothing ye can do! Do you hear me? Nothing! That child's as good as dead! I'll not stand here and let ye risk your own life and mine for some crack-brained notion of yours!" 

Look at you, Geillis, talking sense.

Claire, on the other hand, seems to have suffered a head injury of some sort, since she has forgotten where she is and how she needs to act in order to go unsuspected.

"Geilie, no, I can't. I'll be careful, I promise, but I have to go."

That's a real Jamie move, there, Claire. Stand stubbornly on principle, even when there is nothing to gain and plenty to lose. Claire's version of honor is all about healing the sick/injured, and she will risk her own safety to do her duty, even when it is hopeless.

Geillis runs off and Claire goes back to look for the baby.

Actually, I was scared out of my wits when the shadowy figure slid out an grabbed me. I let out a piercing shriek and struck at it.

Ahh! Jamie! Not cool. Announce yourself before grabbing. Don't you remember the creepy door-opening incident? Lucky Claire didn't think to walk with her sgian dhu in hand.

The baby is dead. Claire couldn't save it. Jamie escorts her back to the castle, scolding her for her foolishness along the way.

"I'm not afraid of superstitions." A thought struck me. "Do you believe in fairies, and changelings, and all that?"

All that? You mean, like, magical circles of standing stones that serve as portals through the chasm of time? 

Jamie says he doesn't really believe, but reminds Claire that the old stories are more than entertainment to the village folk. Jamie is an educated man, but even he admits, "I suppose there's some truth behind some of them."

I thought of the amber eyes of the waterhorse, and wondered which others were true.

I almost forgot about the waterhorse. You are mighty skeptical for a time traveler who has actually seen the Loch Ness monster, missy.

Claire and Jamie arrive at Castle Leoch, where the Duke of Sandringham has arrived at last. Claire meets the Duke (hopefully she changed out of her mud-tramping gown first?), who is described as a ridiculous personage, "a big man, fit and solid" with "a voice like an overwrought mouse." Usually, I wouldn't care much about a supporting character providing comic relief with his mannerisms, but this feels gross. We're already dealing with Black Jack Randall, the Meticulous Gay Sadist. Now we have Sandringham, the theatrical, squeaky-voiced pederast? I do not feel good about this.

Colum proposes a hunting party, comprising the Duke, Dougal, and Jamie.

"Capital! Capital!" The Duke was delighted. He patted Jamie on the leg; I saw the muscles tighten, but Jamie didn't move. He smiled tranquilly, and the Duke let his hand linger just a moment too long. Then His Grace caught my eye on him, and smiled jovially at me, his expression saying "Worth a try, eh?" Despite myself, I smiled back. Much to my surprise, I quite liked the man.

I feel like I need to pause for a moment to puzzle out what is going on with these gay characters. On the one hand, this novel traffics in some very ugly tropes. It's not just the Depraved Homosexual. Now we have All Gays are Pedophiles as well. And Sandringham is being played for some pretty broad laughs. 

On the other hand, the book doesn't seem fully committed to hating on the gay characters for being gay. Claire likes the Duke. Black Jack Randall's evilness transcends his gayness. Even Jamie is pretty chill about dudes trying to rape him. 

So what is going on here? Perhaps it's just that this book is 24 years old and thus slightly befuddling to li'l old Millennial me. But I am working on a theory that this is all about Jamie. Specifically, this novel is posing a lot of questions about consent and sexual power dynamics, and having Jamie be the object of male desire highlights some of the absurdities that might slip by unnoticed if directed at a female character. Is it inappropriate for a Duke to hit on a teenager? When he's grabbing 16-year-old Jamie's ass, it's alarming, even if the characters are laughing about it. But how many times has a noble character pinched a serving girl or slid a hand up her skirt in a sci fi/historical fiction/adventure story and it's barely noticed? Khal Drogo rapes Daenerys until she falls in love with him on Game of Thrones (TV, not book, Drogo is much gentler in the book, though Dany is also much, much younger, so . . . ). Think of how grotesque "raped until you learn to like it" turns in this novel. The Duke's pursuit of Jamie may be getting some laughs here, but no one is laughing at the end of the book.

I don't know. The Sandringham-as-Pederast stuff is vile. That's a powerful trope that has done a lot of real-world damage to real people. Is it worth it to go there, even in service of productive gender-swapping? I don't know. I don't feel good about Sandringham's characterization, that's for damn sure.

Now, back to the ongoing, neverending, eternal, ceaseless plot of this chapter.

. . . when Colum asked Jamie to ride down and escort the Duncans to the castle for the Duke's banquet two days later, I went with him.

This makes no damn sense. Why do the Duncans need an escort? Have they ever had one before? Did they forget where Leoch is? Lazy. Maybe I should overlook this, but I am so sick of this stupid chapter that I'm just generally cranky.

Claire gets a few minutes alone with Geillis and they sneak up to attic to perform a "summoning," ostensibly to find out who left the ill-wish in Claire's bed. Geillis pours water in a basin, lights a candle, burns some herbs. Maybe some opium. Claire might be hypnotized. Or high. Geillis starts asking her questions about her identity and origins. 

"Why did you come?"

"I can't tell."

"Why can't you tell?"

"Because no one will believe me."

The voice in my head grew still more soothing, friendly, beguiling.

"I will believe you. Believe me. Who are you?"

Just when Claire is on the verge of spilling her guts, Arthur Duncan interrupts and breaks the trance. Geillis "mutter[s] something rude under her breath," but gives up (for now) and goes to dress for the banquet. While she's dressing, Arthur barges in on her and sees something shocking:

Crossing to the privy closet, he knocked once, hastily, and went in. 

There was a small startles scream from within, and then dead silence.

Arthur Duncan reappeared in the door, eyes wide and staring-blind, face so white that I thought perhaps he was suffering an attack of some sort.

Claire doesn't know what Arthur saw and Geillis isn't about to tell her.

They go to the banquet. Claire and Jamie, "somewhat lower in status," have to sit with Rupert and Ned rather than Dougal, Colum, and the Duke. A great loss, I'm sure.

It was in fact delicious. I had never tasted roast pheasant stuffed with honeyed chestnuts, and was helping myself to a third slice, when Ned Gowan, watching in some amusement at my appetite, asked whether I had yet tried the suckling pig.

I feel that Claire has not had to eat enough disgusting things in the 18th century. She doesn't comment on the food all that much (drink is another matter), but when she does, it is usually favorably. In the interests of making the 18th century less romantic, I hope there comes a time when she is subsisting on rancid meat and pottage. Also, they drink a lot of lovely wine and whisky and ale in this series, but haven't really dipped into the 18th-century favorites. Let's see some punch, flip, syllabub, and posset around here. In general, their libations need more unpasteurized dairy and eggs. I suppose it's possible that those drinks were less popular in the Highlands than elsewhere, but Colum sets a fashionable table, so no excuse.

Colum gets up from his seat and starts walking over to Claire. Immediately, I am on my guard, expecting something humiliating/painful. Colum makes a little speech about Claire's many talents, making reference to her help with delivering the foal.  This could be sincere, or could be the setup to a cruel joke. Cringing.

"In any case," Colum continued, reaching into his coat pocket, "you must allow me to present you with a small token of my gratitude." He handed me a small wooden box, lid carved with the MacKenzie badge.

Ahhhh! Don't open it! 90% sure it's a manticore!

It contained a beautiful rosary of jet, each bead intricately carved, and the crucifix inlaid with silver.

Oh. That's disappointing. Though I'm not ruling out the possibility that it is poisoned or fitted with some sort of surveillance device.

Nonetheless, I thanked Colum warmly, and gave the rosary to Jamie to keep for me in his sporran.

Do ye no have pockets, Claire? That's one thing I always liked about wearing historical clothing — plenty of pockets for women. My modern clothes almost never have pockets and it is super annoying. I'm pretty sure Claire has had pockets in other chapters of this book. It's not like one dress has them and another doesn't — 18th-century pockets were little bags worn underneath the gown, down among the layers of undergarments.

Then, calamity:

I could see the rotund form of Arthur Duncan on the floor, limbs flailing convulsively, batting away the helpful hands of would be assistants.

Claire thinks Arthur is choking and tries to help. She thumps, massages, even gives mouth-to-mouth, but no dice. He dies on the floor in the middle of the banquet. Claire notes that her own lips are tingling, but I am already spoiled for the poison bit.

A week later, this chapter is still going on.

Also, Jamie leaves to go stag hunting with the Duke.

The realization of Jamie's imminent departure was deeply depressing.

I used to get mopey when Mr. Gemma went on business trips. Then, I had kids. Now I curse my pre-kid self for wasting all that delightful Alone Time being grumpy.

"I'll miss you, Jamie," I said softly.

He hugged me tighter, and gave a rueful chuckle.

"So will I, Sassenach. I hadna expected it, to tell the truth—but it will hurt me to leave ye."

I get why Claire is reluctant to tell Jamie she loves him (other than that one outburst at the end of Chapter 22, but that was a light moment, not a heartfelt confession). She is still thinking about leaving. Maybe. But what is his hangup?

"Oh, and stay away from Geillis Duncan."

That's the kiss of death for Claire. Whenever someone says, "Claire, stay here" or "Claire, don't go there," you know for sure that she's going. It's like when someone in a George R.R. Martin book says, "We'll talk about that important thing when I get back." Dead man riding.

Claire wakes up cold in the night. Because Jamie stole her quilt. So he could watch her sleep. It has to be said:

Jamie goes off hunting and Claire mopes around for a couple of weeks. One day, Laoghaire finds Claire and tells her that Geillis has sent word that she is ill and that Claire should go to the village at once. Claire is not suspicious at all, which, frankly, is a bit surprising. She knows she's supposed to be on her guard. Jamie warned her about Geillis. Geillis warned her about the girls in the castle being unhappy that she had taken Jamie off the marriage market. And here's Laoghaire, telling Claire to ignore Jamie's warning and go see Geillis. 

I hesitated, remembering Jamie's injunctions, but the twin forces of comapssion and boredom were sufficient to set me on the road to the village within the hour, my medicine box strapped behind me on the horse's saddle.

So much for Jamie's theory of the efficacy of beating a lesson into someone.

Geillis is, of course, perfectly fine. Drunk, but fine. Alone in squalor, but fine.

A far-off rumbling, muttering sort of noise. I had heard it before, from this room, and my palms had grown sweaty then at the thought of confronting the mob that made it.

The End. 

This was, by far, my least favorite chapter. There were some entertaining portions, but I stupefied by the organizational mayhem. The whole point of having chapters is to sharpen the narrative. You direct the reader's attention to particular themes or relationships by grouping events together in productive ways. This isn't a "chapter" so much as a staggering concoction of odds and ends tossed together and served in an aspic suspension. The editorial process at work here boggles the mind.

Body Count:

Jamie: 5 + assorted redcoats + two years as mercenary in France

Claire: 1

Chapter 23: Return to Leoch

In this chapter, welp, I guess we're still talking about consent here.

I need to cut back on how much detail I'm putting into these recaps. That last one was nearly as long as the chapter itself. There's a lot to say! But I'm going to try for brevity here.

Claire and Jamie reach the inn and take a nap. Later, they discuss their plans for the future.

I felt extraordinarily uncomfortable. I felt like a traitor, in fact . . . Even now, I was thinking that I should try to talk him out of going to France, as that would carry me farther away from my own goal: the stone circle.

Do I believe her? At the midpoint of chapter 22, I would have. But she let Jamie back into bed with her, so I'm not convinced she means it.

News: the Duke of Sandrigham is coming to Leoch to visit! He might help Jamie get a pardon! This seems wildly optimistic!

They ride hellbent for Castle Leoch, arriving dirty, hungry, and exhausted. Claire is so tired that Jamie carries her across the threshold, traditional newly-wed style. I read this as a nod to the renewed commitment they made to one another at the end of the last chapter. Again, the formal wedding vows are less important than the improvised oaths they swear to one another.

As word of their marriage spreads, Claire and Jamie are mobbed by the inhabitants of Castle Leoch, including—uh oh—Laoghaire.

It was the girl Laoghaire, face shining and radiant as she heard Jamie's voice. Her eyes grew wide and the rosebud mouth dropped unbecomingly open, though, as she saw what he carried.

Poor girl. A nasty surprise.

Colum is there, also less than overjoyed at the happy news. But not openly hostile. Jamie makes a point of reminding Colum that something something now that he's married he gets a share of the MacKenzie's quarterly rents. Then he whisks Claire off to bed.

I had just about decided that I might get up for Gabriel's Trump, but not much else, when I saw that Jamie, who had not only washed face and hands but combed his hair to boot, was headed toward the door.

He goes out. Instead of falling asleep, Claire decides to spend the next hour or so working herself into a froth of anger, imagining that Jamie has run off to see Laoghaire. I appreciated this scene — I have wasted many an hour conducting one-sided arguments with imaginary interlocutors. Claire's tendency to escalate, jumping from one problem to another as she hits her stride, was nicely humanizing. 

First, she's worried that Jamie spruced himself up and ran off to find Laoghaire.

I found, a bit to my surprise, that I strongly disliked the memory of Jamie kissing Laoghaire. I remembered what he had said about that, too — "'Tis better to marry than to burn, and I was burning badly then." I burned a bit myself, flushing strongly as I remembered the effect of Jamie's kisses on my own lips. Burning indeed.

Let's roll the tape on this one. Did Jamie make out with Laoghaire after he saved her from he whipping? No. You found them in the alcove on the day after the concert. Jamie was completely dismissive of her during that event, but then went down to your room with you, where you drunkenly caressed his naked flesh and somehow managed not to fall into bed with him. Consult your book — it's all there in chapter 8!

Not having a copy of Outlander, Claire cannot peruse the evidence. Instead, she gets herself more worked up, because perhaps Jamie married her just to collect his share of the rents. Then she's back to jealousy, remembering the time she caught Jamie and Laoghaire making out in an alcove. Then she's fretting over Jamie's too-practical reasons for marrying her again. And from there, we're launched back into her existential questions about her situation.

What am I doing here? I asked myself for the thousandth time. Here, in this strange place, unreachable distances from everything familiar, from home and husband and friends, adrift and alone among what amounted to savages?

Go to sleep, Claire. You're unspooling.

Exhausted and emotionally vulnerable, Claire begins to think of Frank, but finds that she can't summon a clear memory of his face. Black Jack Randall keeps getting in the way. Yuck.

If I meant to leave, as I did, I was doing neither of us a favor by allowing the bond between us to strengthen any further. I should not allow him to fall in love with me.

Jamie's back. And Claire immediately tries to bite his head off, accusing him of sneaking off to see his girlfriend. Jamie adopts the calm tone common to parents whose toddlers are throwing incomprehensible tantrums, at least at first.

"Are ye suggesting I've played ye false?" he said, unbelievingly. "We've been back to the Castle less than an hour, I'm covered wi' the sweat and dust of two days in the saddle and so tired my knees wabble, and yet ye think I've gone straight out to seduce a maid of sixteen?"

All valid points, Jamie. But you're supposed to be perceptive. Answer the fear she is expressing, not the details she's throwing at you.

Claire bumbles around a bit more, finally attempting to offer Jamie some version of an open relationship. Given that she has just spent several pages writhing with jealousy and anger, I doubt that this is a genuine offer.

"I have no claim at all on you. You're at perfect liberty to behave as you wish. If you . . . if there's an attraction elsewhere . . . I mean . . . I won't stand in your way."

Jamie, mostly calm until this point, is not impressed.

"No claim on me!" he exclaimed. "And what d'ye think a wedding vow is, lassie? Just words in a church?"

Pretty much? This novel has taken a modern/secular, rather than a sacramental, view of marriage thus far, with the promises made between the two parties forming the heart of the relationship and the formal vows serving practical purposes. 

And then we get a test of whether Jamie actually meant it when he pledged not to do violence to Claire. It's another uncomfortable scene, but one that highlights how his oath goes against so many of his expectations about marriage. 

Things Jamie says/does in this scene:

1. kisses Claire roughly
2. picks her up and won't put her down when she struggles
3. "He kissed me again, deliberately hard, cutting off my protest."
4. "I didna ask your preferences in the matter, Sassenach."
5. "You're my wife, and if I want ye, woman, then I'll have you, and be damned to ye!"

Things Claire says/does in this scene:

1. "Let go of me!"
2. "I don't want to sleep with you!"
3. "You think you can order me to your bed? Use me like a whore when you feel like it? Well, you can't you fucking bastard. Do that, and you're no better than your precious Captain Randall!"

Yikes. Just when it looks like we're going to get an honest-to-goodness rape scene as a followup to the beating scene, things shift. Jamie angrily offers to let Claire leave (though it is not clear that he actually would have let her).

"No," I said. "No. I don't run away from things. And I'm not afraid of you."

Her defiance defuses him. He takes a step back, a deep breath, and then lightens the mood by asking Claire what "fucking" means. I think I remember reading somewhere that couples who joke in the midst of serious fights do well in the long run.

Also, I am reminded of those court documents that show that "fuck" was being used in English in the early 14th century. The etymology is so disputed we'll probably never untangle it completely, but it is a remarkably old curse word.

One brow lifted, and he looked sourly amused. "Oh, swiving? Then I was right; it is a damn filthy word. And what's a sadist? Ye called me that the other day."

I suppressed the urge to laugh. "It's er, it's a person who . . . who, er, gets sexual pleasure from hurting someone." My face was crimsoning, but I couldn't stop the corners of my mouth from turning up slightly.

Jamie snorted briefly. "Well, ye dinna flatter me overmuch," he said, "but I canna fault your observations."

A word here. Yes, all this dialogue appears in the TV show. But I seem to remember it being played a bit more as "tee hee, you're a sadist." Whereas, in the novel . . . I mean, Jamie actually is a sadist, isn't he? Maybe not, like, an Olympic-level sadist, but at least somewhere in the Dom/sadist realm. Hard to say, exactly, so early on. It's not just the beating scene. In fact, the scene coming up here is a bit —more— than anything we saw in the TV show. 

I don't know whether there is any particular utility to trying to find specific labels for these characters' individual kinks. It's probably enough to say that they both seem to enjoy sex that is rough enough to leave them literally bruised and bleeding. I don't necessarily have a problem with that — they both give as good as they get. And Jamie is slowly coming around to this whole consent thing.

But I am still feeling a little squicked out by the way this novel is portraying the way a loving couple explores their desires. In general, you don't want to go with, "hey, let's just try out this potentially traumatizing move, full-bore, without discussing it first! I'm sure we'll both love it and there will be no problems!" It's nice that Claire and Jamie are (magically) sexually compatible! But they don't negotiate their boundaries beforehand. If both of you are up for the type of sex that has one partner yelling, "stop, please, you're hurting me" and being completely ignored, for God's sake work that out in advance. And have a safe word or some other failsafe that distinguishes between "stop" and "No, really, I mean STOP." The upcoming scene veers a bit too far into "No Means Yes" territory for me to feel good about enjoying it. Yes, it is a sexy novel, not real life. I'm just feeling that urge to text my little sister again. Discuss boundaries while everyone still has clothes on! Have fun, be safe!

But we actually aren't quite to that part of the chapter yet.

First, Claire admits to Jamie that she's upset because she interpreted his remark to Colum about the rent as saying that he just married her for the money. Good for you, Claire! Introspective and communicative! Jamie finds this very funny. First, because it's not very much money at all. And second, he only asked for the money because he wanted to go buy her a wedding ring. Awwwww.

Reaching, he took the package from my lap and tore away the wrapping, revealing a wide silver band, decorated in the Highland interlace style, a small and delicate Jacobean thistle bloom carved in the center of each link.

So much I saw, and then my eyes blurred again.

In a welcome reversal, the near-rape of a few pages ago has become an extended conversation about consent and choice. Jamie offers Claire the ring, but gives her a the chance to refuse it.

So he was giving me the choice I had started out to give him. Forced on me by circumstance, he would force himself on me no longer, if I chose to reject him. And there was the alternative, of course: to accept the ring, and all that went with it.

Claire accepts the ring and Jamie puts it on her finger. "A good fit," Claire notes, making oblique reference to their legal wedding, in which their union was symbolized by an ill-fitting ring improvised for the occasion. Now that Claire has freely chosen to marry him, they have this private little ceremony that improves on the formal vows. A much better fit. Just another example of the theory of marriage in this novel. I'm quite enjoying it — marriage as an ongoing process of choosing one another, rather than as a single ceremony.

We also get some character development from Jamie. It has been well established that his cultural understanding of marriage is one of authority/obedience. But here, after Claire has accepted a wedding ring from him, he explicitly asks her consent for the sexual access that an 18th-century husband would regard as his right. Observe as Jamie struggles, but ultimately respects Claire's expectations about consent:

"I want ye, Claire," he said, sounding choked. He paused a moment, as though unsure what to say next. "I want ye so much — I can scarcely breath. Will —" He swallowed, then cleared his throat. "Will ye have me?"

Yes, yes, very romantic and all that. But note the movement from thinking of his own desires, through a bit of uncertainty, and ultimately ending up asking about Claire's desires. Character development!

Again, Claire says yes. And more specifically:

"I'll not . . . I can't . . . Claire, I canna be gentle about it."

I had time only to nod once, in acknowledgment or permission, before he bore me back before him, his weight pinning me to the bed.

In terms of genre, this is where a lot of "adventure" or "sci-fi" or "historical" fiction would cut out. In fact, it is where this novel cut out on the beating scene. The characters have had their say, and continuing past this point could mean a couple of different things:

1. Genre: Erotica. We see more of the sex scene because it's meant to be salacious.
2. Narrative: Important character development happens within the sex scene, not just before and after.
3.  

So far, I have been impressed by Diana Gabaldon's commitment to showing a relationship negotiated through sex. There's plenty of relationship-building going on in this scene. It's another mind/body thing: Claire accepts Jamie rationally and then, somewhat more emphatically, physically.

Again, for the love of God, please do not treat any real-life sex partners in this way unless you have previously discussed boundaries and ground rules.

"Aye, I mean to use ye hard, my Sassenach," he whispered. "I want to own you, body and soul . . . I mean to make ye call me 'Master,' Sassenach."

Usually, Jamie's use of "Sassenach" as a pet name for Claire is just setdressing, but in this passage, I'm wondering a bit about their relationship in the context of Jamie's ongoing struggle with English authority. Here he is, an outlaw who has been driven off his land by the English soldiers who raped his sister and sort of killed his dad in the process of flogging him nearly to death, deeply embedded in a culture that regards the English as their oppressors, and he's getting pretty emphatic about dominating his English wife, whom he calls by an epithet that others use in suspicion/derision/hatred. That's some sort of mindfuck.

Maybe I am over-reading some of this. Maybe this scene is just supposed to be titillating and reader enjoyment will vary with individual preferences. But I can't help quoting one more passage:

He thrust harder and faster, as though he would force my soul as he forced my body. In body or soul, somewhere he struck a spark, and an answering fury of passion and need sprang from the ashes of surrender.

That's all well and good here. But holy shit, this is going to be bad news twenty chapters from now. Claire literally falls asleep thinking about how Frank never unlocked the secret to mutual possession that Jamie has in this encounter. Fine. But your physical possession of my body has awakened something that even my spouse has never glimpsed is a devastating line of thought in other circumstances.

There's a bit more to the chapter, but just restatements of the major themes. Claire and Jamie have re-committed to one another. They have both made concessions to the other's cultural values. And they have discovered an extremely fortunate (and somewhat unlikely) sexual compatibility. They're ready to begin Part Four happy, united, and in love. So you know things are going to go to hell pretty soon.

Body Count:

Jamie: 5 + assorted redcoats + two years as mercenary in France

Claire: 1

Chapter 22: Reckonings

In this chapter, cultures collide, characters develop.

So here we are. The famous "spanking scene." Though, in fact, Jamie beats Claire with a belt, non-consensually, while she tries to fight him off. So let's call it the "beating scene."

I have avoided reading think pieces about this episode of the TV show, but, judging by the comments of friends and family, there has been a lot of discussion about this scene. There seem to be two main questions:

1. Is this offensive?
2. Is this necessary?

After reading this chapter, I am inclined to answer "Yes" to both.

To the chapter!

Claire, Jamie, and the MacKenzie party make it to an inn. The men ignore Claire in a pointed manner, making it plain that she is "in disgrace."

After dinner, Claire and Jamie go upstairs. Claire starts to get ready for bed, but Jamie stops her.

"He came to stand by the bed, swinging the belt gently back and forth.

"Well, lass, I'm afraid we've a matter still to settle between us before we sleep tonight." I felt a sudden stab of apprehension."

Jamie tries to explain that Claire's decision to run away "put the rest in danger," and she must pay for it. Again, it seems worth pointing out that Claire didn't put anyone but herself in danger. Jamie is the one who went after her and brought the other men with him. I am very skeptical of his line about how a man would be even more severely punished for the same offense. So, if one of the other men wandered away from the camp and gotten captured, you would rescue him and then execute him for endangering the group? That sounds unlikely. 

But it is true that they are in a bad situation. The English soldiers are after them and Black Jack Randall is unlikely to forgive and forget. 

"I'll tell ye that it near killed me to see that animal with his hands on you."

Please, Jamie, tell us more about how the assault on Claire was terrible for you. I'm sure we're all fascinated.

Jamie insists that he must beat Claire because she disobeyed orders, but Claire is having none of it. In trying to explain his position, he stumbles through some general observations about Claire's behavior:

"Ye dinna take things as serious as they are. Ye come from a place where things are easier, I think. 'Tis not a matter of life or death where ye come from, to disobey orders or take matters into your own hands. At worst, ye might cause someone discomfort, or be a bit of a nuisance, but it isna likely to get someone killed."

This is a good point. For a 20th-century time traveler, one of the most disorienting things about the 18th century would probably be the powerful bonds of hierarchy and deference that bound women and men alike. Though it isn't as if Claire has never had to take orders before — she was in the army for heaven's sake. The disconnect is that Claire does not recognize Jamie as a legitimate authority, whereas he plainly expects that marriage places her under his command.

Reluctantly, Claire agrees to obey orders, "even if I don't agree with them." This does not, however, gain her a reprieve from the imminent beating. Why? Here, Jamie articulates his own understanding of the ongoing mind/body argument:

"Ye understand me, ye say, and I believe it. But there's a difference between understandin' something with your mind and really knowing it, deep down."

I wish there were a flag or something I could put in this quotation. If Jamie really believes this— that the truths embodied in physical experience trump the superficial understandings of the rational mind— what will happen at the end of this book? Will he persist in that belief? It is going to lead him down a pretty dark road.

I felt deeply betrayed that the man I depended on as friend, protector, and lover intended to do such a thing to me. And my sense of self-preservation was quietly terrified at the thought of submitting myself to the mercies of someone who handled a fifteen-pound claymore as though it were a flywhisk.

At this point, I just feel sick. Yes, this is a terrible scene to read. But I don't think Gabaldon soft-pedals just how revolting it is. Claire's fear and humiliation is clear. Whatever goodwill Jamie had earned from the reader in the past few chapters is draining fast, taking the shine off of the possibility of Claire staying in the 18th century. Claire's determination to get back to the standing stones has seemed anemic at times, but as Jamie goes on and on explaining the near-complete control he has over her body and her freedom, I can feel the urgency for an escape building. 

There are scenes like this in the Song of Ice and Fire series, where Ramsay Snow/Bolton tortures Lady Hornwood to death. The difference is that this novel is showing the violence and humiliation from Claire's point of view. It's gross. But, I would argue, necessary for reminding us that Claire is not in a theme park. There are real cultural conflicts between her and Jamie. If she decides to stay, she will have to accommodate his expectations or alter her own.

Still, some of this is awful to read. Especially when he starts joking about it. God, fuck you, Jamie. I don't even want to write about this any more. It is making me angry. The mocking reminds me of the impotent rage of arguing with a man and having him undercut your points by suggesting that you must be on your period. Ihave never actually struck someone in anger (at least not since I was a child), but I can think of several times in my own life where only extreme self-control kept me from putting a knife (or a stapler, or whatever was handy) through the face of some smug asshole who has said that to me. Self-control and running away and crying.

Taking a break for a little while.

Ok, back now.

How are we to read this scene? I think that there are a variety of valid readings, all informed by individual readers' own experiences with violence, humiliation, and powerlessness. At one extreme, some people read this scene as humorous — the Starz show did, going so far as to give it a playful soundtrack. They certainly lightened the mood, choosing not to adhere closely to Claire's own description ("half smothered in the greasy quilts with a knee in my back, being beaten within an inch of my life"). That makes some sense from a pragmatic standpoint — Starz needs to keep ratings up and watching the love interest beat the female protagonist seems like a good way to lose viewers.

I can't give a definitive or objective reading. No one can. I can only say that, for me, this scene is disturbing enough that I'm pretty much off Team Jamie at this point. Fuck that guy. I know that's not fair — he is an 18th-century dude doing his 18th-century thing. It's true that 18th-century ideas about deference and obedience were terrible. And, insofar as Jamie adheres to them, so is he. It is perfectly appropriate for an 18th-century character to beat and humiliate a woman. Other things 18th-century characters might be ok with: Enslaving people! Committing genocide in the service of imperial conquest! Executing children! Marital rape! Enslaving people and then raping them! Actually, pretty much any sort of rape! Including not believing that rape is something that exists! All of those are believable positions for an 18th-century character. The fact that Jamie is not as awful as his peers is not enough for me to be on his side. Like fucking Thomas Jefferson. They should have a club.

I do appreciate that we do not actually "see" the beating in the novel. There's a lot of buildup and some oblique descriptions after it has happened, but we aren't subjected to a prurient blow-by-blow. That goes some way toward making it feel less exploitative of Claire. We still see all her rage and embarrassment, which is important. It's a direct contrast to the way Diana Gabaldon handles the sex scenes — there are plenty of those that do not cut away. But Jamie beating Claire is not really played for the reader's titillation, despite the explicit acknowledgement that Jamie finds it arousing. Seriously, fuck that guy. Non-consensual beating. SMH.

It's the next morning, and shit is still awful.

"Chin up." He chucked me under the chin, and I bit his hand, sharply but not deep.

Redoubling my desire for Claire to run away. Every time he belittles her or dismisses her anger, I step closer to wanting her to slip a knife through his guts on her way out the door.

Claire goes downstairs to breakfast and everything is horrible on top of unbearable. All the men are teasing her and joking like this is funny and I would be fairly happy if this inn just fucking exploded at this point. I cannot even quote this bullshit. Floggings all around and see if I care at all, you bastards.

Jamie followed me to our room, but I shut the door firmly in his face. Let him sleep on the floor again.

There can be no satisfactory retaliation for the humiliation Claire has suffered. This is a good start, though, showing that she is not cowed.

Were I being objective, which I was in no mood to be, I might admit that he was right when he said I didn't take things with the proper seriousness. He was wrong, though, when he said it was because things were less precarious in my own place — wherever that was. In fact, I thought, it was more likely the opposite was true. This time was in many ways still unreal to me; something from a play or a fancy-dress pageant . . . I was having trouble with the scale of things.

This is a good point. Even after years of study, it is always a shock for me to read about famous 18th-century battles that resulted in dozens of casualties, rather than tens of thousands. Or 18th-century cities like Boston, population 15,000. I grew up in a town of 15,000 people, and it was a small town. I can see how it would be difficult to adjust your expectations to that intimate scale. 

It's not just that Claire finds the past "picturesque" — it's also impermanent. If she's leaving, there is no reason to adjust her thinking to suit her new circumstances. And after this chapter, I am 100% in favor of her leaving.

There's a lot more here about Claire trying to come to terms with the "realness" of her situation. The important point seemed to be this:

Jamie filled my senses so completely that his surroundings seemed almost irrelevant. But I could no longer afford to ignore them.

Staying with Jamie means staying in the 18th century. Fuck the 18th century.

Claire endures a very uncomfortable horseback ride for several hours before the pain from being beaten forces her to dismount and walk.

Jamie immediately swung down.

"I'll walk with her," he said quietly . . .

Several hours of torture by saddle had not improved my temper. Let him walk with me. I was damned if I'd speak to him.

Unfortunately, this resolve does not last very long. Jamie begins to tell Claire about all the times he was beaten as a child, which he seems to think is helping the situation, but just underscores how ghastly all of this is. Beating a child is awful. So is treating a woman as a perpetual child. 

Jamie explains all his childhood mischiefs and the beatings he got for them. We are to understand that Jamie sees physical humiliation as justice, doled out in fairness for minor offenses. Whatever a 21st-century reader might think of that philosophy, it is, at least, coherent. If you believed, as Jamie does, in both the justice of corporal punishment and the fundamental inferiority of women, beating Claire would make sense.

This makes me wonder about Jamie's thinking about his own flogging. His offense was akin to Claire's — refusing to follow orders from someone whose authority he did not recognize, despite Captain Randall's strong claim on deference from the teenaged son of a minor landowner. Does Jamie feel that his beating and floggings were fair punishment for his defiance? Seems like maybe he does.

At this point, it becomes clear that Diana Gabaldon does not take quite as dim a view of corporal punishment as I do. Claire is relaxing and forgiving Jamie, and Gabaldon puts some fairly standard pro-corporal punishment arguments in Brian Fraser's mouth:

"Once I told him I thought beating your son was a most uncivilized method of getting your own way. He said I'd about as much sense as the post I was standing next to, if as much. He said respect for your elders was one of the cornerstones of civilized behavior, and until I learned that, I'd better get used to looking at my toes while one of my barbaric elders thrashed my arse off."

Since Claire responds to this with laughter, rather than with a considered argument for positive parenting (an anachronism for her as well as for Jamie), I gather that we are supposed to be ok with all this logic. Maybe it's that this book is dated. Maybe I'm just a naive hippie who doesn't beat her kids. But I find all this chummy acceptance of corporal punishment off-putting. It's not the characters — I can live with an 18th-century character advocating corporal punishment. If they didn't, that would be suspicious. But at this point in the chapter, Claire is forgiving Jamie a bit too quickly for my tastes. I will hang around a bit longer only because the TV show gives me some reason to hope that this subplot has not been completely resolved yet.

He paused and glanced at me. "I seldom lose my temper, Sassenach, and generally regret it when I do." And that, I thought, was likely to be as close to an apology as I'd get.

This has me wondering about the character arcs in these books. At this point, Jamie has not made any progress toward accommodating Claire's beliefs and values. As Claire notes, citing Dougal as an authority, "all the Frasers are stubborn as rocks, and you're the worst of the lot." Claire has acclimated to the 18th century by necessity and has made some concessions, including her attempt to see where Jamie was coming from in this chapter. If they're going to stay together, what concessions will he make? 

The horses are frightened of something, so Jamie goes off to investigate, leaving Claire alone.

Only you, I thought crossly to myself, could work yourself up into being afraid of a lot of trees.

Treat yourself kindly, Claire. You've survived two attempted rapes, a harsh beating, and your very first time knifing a guy to death, all in about 72 hours. Don't be hard on yourself for being jumpy.

Know what will make you feel better? Wolves!

Wait, were there still wolves in the UK in the 1740s? That seems fairly late. I remember reading once that one of the things that redcoats hated about the American colonies was the wildlife. Wolves and bears were the boogeymen of childhood fables to them, not common animals. And then here they were, bumbling around upstate New York, with black bears rooting through their camp middens and wolves howling in the night. I'll have to look for that reference — I think it was a letter from a British soldier describing the American forest as a terrifying hellscape. 

Claire and Jamie observe this unlikely wolfpack for a while. For some reason, this has a calming effect on them.

What has Claire taken away from this conversation?

As we walked, considering the stories he had told me, I couldn't help but admire the job he had done. Without one word of direct explanation or apology, he had given me the message he intended. I gave you justice, it said, as I was taught it. And I gave you mercy, too, so far as I could. While I could not spare you pain and humiliation, I make you a gift of my own pains and humiliations, that yours might be easier to bear.

Two things:

1. Direct apologies are nice, too.
2. Equating the punishments you endured as a child with the punishment you just inflicted on your grown-ass wife highlights the fact that you think of her as a dependent, not an equal. 

Jamie then tells a story about the last time he was beaten with a strap, when he was 16. Just in case the point has been lost on anyone, he is explicit in distinguishing between a man's punishment (beaten with fists) and a child's punishment (beaten with a strap). To wit:

"Then Colum said no, if I was going to behave like a child, I'd be punished like one. He gave a nod, and before I could move, Angus bent me across his knee, turned up the edge of my kilt, and blistered me with his strap, in front of the entire Hall."

Very humiliating, to be sure. There's more to it — he had to apologize and then Colum wouldn't let him leave, and he almost pissed himself waiting in Hall for a long time, etc.

"So," he spread his hands deprecatingly, dropping the clump of pine needles, now you know the worst thing that ever happened to me." 

I couldn't help it; I laughed until I had to sit down at the side of the road.

Things have taken a decided turn for the lighthearted. They talk about Laoghaire and how Jamie took her punishment in the Hall to save her from the same humiliation he endured at sixteen. Then they're back to talking about sex and Claire has pretty much forgotten about the beating. Everything's all giggly and intimate again. In a fit of laughter, Claire busts out with,

Oh, Jamie, I do love you!

Which sends him into fits in turn.

At long last, he sat up, wiping his streaming eyes. He shook his head, gasping.

"Murtagh was right about women. Sassenach, I risked my life for ye, committing theft, arson, assault, and murder into the bargain. In return for which ye call me names, insult my manhood, kick me in the ballocks and claw my face. Then I beat you half to death and tell ye all the most humiliating things have ever happened to me, and you say you love me." He laid his head on his knees and laughed some more. Finally he rose and held out a hand to me, wiping his eyes with the other.

"You're no verra sensible, Sassenach, but I like ye fine. Let's go."

And so ends a long chapter about negotiating cultural conflicts and differing expectations . . .

. . . holy shit, there is more to this chapter. I just checked on my audiobook and the narration takes 1 hour, 11 minutes, and 40 seconds. What. Excuse me for a moment.

Riding along, Claire takes stock of her feelings:

Married to him by coercion and dependent on him from necessity, I had undeniably grown very fond of Jamie.

She professes to be unsure about Jamie's affection for her, since he "had never made even a casual statement to me about his feelings." But, of course, he has spent the last several hours telling Claire all about himself, "admitt[ing] me to his emotions and his personal life, warts and all." But she's still thinking about running away.

Then, Jamie decides to tell Claire about his father's death. This chapter is quite the infodump.

Long story short: Brian Fraser died of a stroke while watching Black Jack Randall flog Jamie apparently to death.

We learn some important things about Jamie's relationship with Brian, specifically that Brian was an affectionate father who promised to stand by Jamie no matter what, and that Jamie blames himself for Brian's death?

Why? Because Randall offered to spare Jamie the flogging if Jamie would "make him free of my body." Jamie refused, and thinks that if he had spared his father from seeing the flogging, he might not have died.

A note here: In light of the ongoing conversation about Black Jack Randall and the Trope of the Depraved Homosexual, I wanted to pause here and notice both Jamie's and Claire's reactions to this story.

Jamie's reaction is mostly pragmatic. He refuses Randall's offer, but doesn't convey overt disgust at the idea. There is one point where Jamie "shudder[s]" during the story, but it's when he's thinking about the flogging. Here is what Jamie actually says about his own reactions:

1. he was scared and in pain from his first flogging ("if I hadna been sitting, my knees would have knocked together.")
2. he did not dismiss the offer outright ("I'll no lie to ye, Sassenach. I considered it.")
3. his reasons were practical (rape would hurt less, the flogging might kill him)
4. his emotional reactions were not immediate disgust (worried his father would be hurt, stubbornly didn't want to submit to the man who had raped Jenny)
5. he called Randall "filthy names" not because he was outraged, but because he was afraid he would change his mind and "wanted to make sure there was no chance of going back."

Compare that to Claire's reaction to this story:

1. "I started so violently that the horse tossed its head and whickered reproachfully."
2. "I felt quite sick."
3. "My voice was hoarse . . ."
4. "I didn't find this amusing. I was seeing Jack Randall again, in a new and revolting light."

Given this evidence, I think it's fair to wonder whether, in other circumstances, Jamie might experience same-sex attraction. Obviously, Black Jack Randall is odious. And he wasn't trying to seduce Jamie — consent is impossible in that situation. But Jamie's reaction to Randall's "indecent proposal" was not, "eeew, gross, get away from me," but "no, you bastard." Claire, on the other hand, seems disgusted. It's not entirely clear whether she's just upset about Jamie possibly being raped, or if she is reacting strongly to Randall's homosexuality. But I think it's the latter. Claire now sees Randall in "a new and revolting light." She already knew he was a sadistic rapist. His lust for Jamie is the only "new" information in this story.

There are a few more details to this story. One is a Bible belonging to a dead prisoner named Alexander MacGregor. The doctor at Fort William gave it to Jamie, who keeps it, meaning to someday "collect" on "a debt owing to Alex MacGregor." Not sure what that's all about.

The whole point of telling this story at this point is so that Claire will understand why Jamie felt he had to beat her. It is effective.

I began to forgive him for what he had done to me.

Does this feel a little emotional blackmail-y to anyone else? Like, quit yer whining about being beaten, woman! I have a vewy vewy sad backstory and I know that you will forgive me if I make you a gift of my pain because you are way into me and also a healer by both nature and profession? No? Just me? Maybe it's not that bad. I don't think he's manipulating her with malicious intent. But I'm wary.

Whether or not I approve of this development, Claire has has decided to adjust her expectations for Jamie him. For good or ill.

"I understand," I said. "And so far as that goes, I forgive you. What I can't forgive," I said, my voice rising slightly in spite of myself, "is that you enjoyed it" . . .

"Enjoyed it! Sassenach," he said, gasping, "you don't know just how much I enjoyed it. You were so . . . God, you looked so lovely. I was so angry, and you fought me so fierce. I hated to hurt you, but I wanted to do it at the same time. . . Jesus," he said, breaking off and wiping his nose, "yes. Yes, I did enjoy it."

These two need to have a serious, non-naked talk about the ground rules of their sex life.

Claire is angry, but agrees to a reconciliation. With one condition:

I whipped my hand from the concealed pocket in my skirt, and the dawn light struck sparks from the blade of the dagger pressed against his chest.

"If," I said through my teeth, "you ever raise a hand to me again, James Fraser, I'll cut your heart out and fry it for breakfast!"

That is a good start. I normally wouldn't condone threats of violence, but since that is the language we're all speaking here, at least Claire is making her boundaries clear.

And, in the end, Jamie promises to change. He swears an oath on the dirk that he will never raise a hand against Claire, similar to the loyalty oaths the MacKenzies pledged to Colum.

Will he keep that oath? On the one hand, he's a romantic hero and is bound to keep all oaths he makes. On the other, I'm not convinced that his idea of unacceptable violence is precisely congruent with Claire's.

So there we have it. The Beating Chapter. It was ugly. I had to take breaks. I am not as ready to forgive Jamie as Claire is. But I'm not overly upset with Diana Gabaldon. If the characters are going to grow, they have to have faults. And this isn't just an arbitrary quirk — the problem of reconciling oneself to the alien expectations of a past century is central to Claire's dilemma. The truth is, time travel to any era is going to be rough on a 20th-century woman. And Claire doesn't even have it that bad — her race, appearance, and education make people treat her as a "lady," and she got stuck with a spouse who is basically kind. This chapter comes at a point in the book where it was important to show just how shitty 18th-century Britain was for women (and for poor people and ethnic/racial/religious minorities, which hasn't come up much yet), and it did that effectively. At the end, I am wary of Jamie, but I'm interested to see whether he will actually change as a result of this incident. 

Body Count:

Jamie: 5 + assorted redcoats + two years as mercenary in France

Claire: 1

Chapter 21: Une Mauvais Quart D'Heure After Another

In this chapter, everything is awful.

When we last left Claire, she was being dragged out of a stream by Black Jack Randall's aide, Corporal Hawkins. Since she did not immediately murder him, I must assume that there were other soldiers around as well. Not, it seems, Black Jack himself.

Chapter 21 opens with Claire waiting for Randall in his office. Knowing approximately what it contains, I am already ready to skip to the end.

Though, if I did that, I would miss this delightful vignette in which Claire methodically and dispassionately destroys Randall's personal possessions.

Carrying the wig stand over to the desk, I gently sifted the remaining contents of the sander over it before replacing it in the cupboard.

Bless.

Then Black Jack walks in and I will try to get through this quickly.

He's all calm and mannerly, giving his best Soft-Spoken Sadist. He even serves Claire wine.

Randall rehashes the evidence regarding Claire's loyalties. He is sure she is a spy, commenting on the "high devotion to duty" she displayed by "bedding one of those hairy, half-naked savages." At least he and Claire share the vocabulary of British Imperialism. He goes on, laying out the possibilities and evaluating them in turn. Claire just sits there, plowing through her wine, while he monologues. 

"Oh," I said, elaborately polite, "I'm included in this conversation, am I? I thought you were doing quite well by yourself. Pray continue."

Good for you, Claire. The chances you are going to die just went up 5%, but good for you anyway.

They circle one another for a while longer, trading witty remarks and threats. Claire keeps seeing "damnable flashes of Frank," but keeps her head. She realizes that there is little chance of escape or rescue, so she goes bold instead.

"Just as you like," I said calmly. "What do you suppose the Duke of Sandringham will have to say about it?"

He upset the hot tea on his doeskin lap and made several very gratifying noises.

Her advantage does not last very long — Randall ties her up and pulls a knife on her. He interrogates her about her knowledge of Sandringham and starts to cut her clothes away and this is the part where I am reading faster to bring the end of this scene nearer.

Shades of Harry the deserter, I thought furiously. What in God's name is the British army coming to? Glorious traditions my aunt Fanny.

Right? Though, I mean, British soldiers did plenty of raping in WWII, too. As did Americans, Soviets, Japanese, and Germans. Soldiers raping women in occupied territories is not a century-specific thing.

Unable to resist physically, Claire screams, "more as a pro forma protest than anything else."

"Go ahead and scream, sweeting," he murmured, busy with his flies. "I'll enjoy it much more if you scream."

Eeeeeeeew.

Oh, here's something. Randall's inability to get enough of an erection to complete an attempted rape is in this scene, rather than in Jenny's flashback. 

And then Jamie gets his Big Damn Hero moment: 

"I'll thank ye," said a cool, level voice, "to take your hands off my wife."

Who is more pleased to see Jamie here? Claire or Black Jack Randall? It's a tough call.

Because, while Randall is surprised to learn that the flogging didn't kill Jamie, we get a lot of laughing and smiling and "their eyes locked tight as a lover's embrace."

Jamie tosses away his pistol when Randall threatens to kill Claire, but we TV viewers know this is a ruse. Randall decides to rape Claire while holding the pistol on Jamie, which, frankly, sounds difficult just from a logistical standpoint. Even if the gun were loaded, Jamie only needs Randall to get distracted for a second in order to snap his neck.

But, of course, the gun is not loaded. Jamie steps in and puts a fist through Randall's face, breaking his nose and knocking him unconscious. 

"You bluffed your way in here with an empty gun?" I croaked hysterically.

"If it were loaded, I would ha' just shot him in the first place, wouldn't I?!" Jamie hissed. 

This next part makes more sense in the book than in the TV show. In the show, they foolishly abandon the unconscious Randall, not taking the five extra seconds it would take to kill him. They sort of explain this away by saying that murder would mean more severe punishment if they were caught, but it was not very convincing. In the book, their failure to kill Randall makes more sense — Claire is bound and Jamie has to untie her while guards are running down the hall toward the room. They don't have an extra five seconds, which makes Randall's survival more plausible.

They escape, aided by an explosion that provides a diversion as they go over the wall. You would have thought that Fort William would have performed some sort of security performance review after half-dead Jamie escaped four years ago, but I guess not. Claire and Jamie rappel down the wall and ride off with Dougal and the MacKenzies. Scene.

But there is more!

Once they are safely away from Fort William, Claire and Jamie have an epic screaming fight. It is very satisfying. Like most good fights, this one features antagonists who both make valid points. A fight where one person is clearly 100% wrong tends toward the pathetic. Even better, this particular fight belongs to a particularly punishing genre: people who care about each other turning their unique knowledge of one another into the most hurtful invective they can imagine. Popcorn, plz.

Jamie leads off with a classic move: passive-aggressive body language:

He rode in grim silence, handling the reins with an angry jerkiness quite unlike his usual smooth grace.

Claire, ever the pragmatist, has little patience for this:

Upset and unsettled myself, I was in no frame of mind to put up with moods.

"Well, what is it, then? What's the matter?" I asked impatiently. Don't sulk, for heaven's sake!" I spoke more sharply than I intended, and felt him stiffen still further.

They turn aside from the road, away from the MacKenzie party, so that they can really let fly.

"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 every 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!"

To be fair to Jamie, yes, Claire does act suspiciously. And yes, she is insufficiently attentive to the dangers of her surroundings. But ending on that last point isn't a very strong finish, logic-wise, as Claire knows:

"And you think I enjoy it?" I yelled. "Are you trying to make out it's my fault?!"

Go, Claire, go!

"It is your fault! Did ye stay put where I ordered ye to stay this morning', this would never have happened!"

Sorry, no. It may be true that Claire took a reckless risk by running away. But obeying you does not keep her from getting raped. Have you forgotten last chapter, when she stayed with you and went with you to a place of your choosing and was still sexually assaulted? You can't fight the patriarchy with more patriarchy, my friend.

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.

I would be sad that my pals are fighting, but I'm just so pleased to see a female character allowed to be righteously pissed off that I am giggling through this.

"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!"

Technically, they are chasing you because you decided to break her out of Fort William, not because she got captured. So . . .

"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."

Listen to her? J/K!

At this, I made a determined effort to kick him in the balls.

Now, now, Claire. I understand the impulse to resort to cruder means when you feel ignored. But turning to violence will not improve this situation. Even though he is shaking you, which is also hella inappropriate.

Oh, it seems that Jamie has not forgotten Chapter 20:

"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 have 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!"

Oof. Christ, Jamie. Not everything is about you.

Claire responds with an appropriate splutter:

"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!"

Preach, Claire. You are the protagonist of this novel and any effort to have your supporting characters knock you out of your rightful place at the center of your own story must be annihilated with extreme prejudice.

"You are my wife, whether ye like it or no!"

Oh fuck off.

"I don't like it! I don't like it a bit! But that doesn't matter as long as I am 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!"

She is really on a roll. And, she's starting to tip over into "unfair" territory. Which I would feel worse about if he would stop shaking her.

"Let go, you" — I deliberately used the words of Harry the deserter, trying to hurt him— "you rutting bastard" . . .

"Ye foul-tongued bitch! Ye'll no speak to me that way!"

I'm sorry I'm quoting so much of this. You should probably just read the whole thing for yourself. It's a good fight.

They're screaming at each other, full throttle, when Claire strikes home:

"It's your bloody pride that's hurt!" I shouted. "I saved us both from the 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."

This is both true and very hurtful, and Jamie deflates. Instead of attacking, he goes down another path, explaining what it meant for him to rescue her from the place where he was flogged nearly to death, knowing that he'd probably be flogged or executed for doing so. Also, he killed a guard.

Which is true, but kind of not the point. It's true that he is very brave and that rescuing her was both difficult and dangerous. But that doesn't mean he's right about her obedience. She didn't make him follow her. That was his decision.

"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.

Now, Claire is going to forgive you because she cares about you and showing her your own pain and suffering is a sure way to get her attention. But that still doesn't make you right about the other stuff. Claire may forgive you because she loves you. But I'm not going to forget this horseshit.

"My pride is hurt. And my pride is about all I've got left to me."

Poor baby. Claire, being a woman, doesn't have the luxury of pride, what with the constant rape threats and the husband threatening to tie her to trees and beat her bloody. Get the fuck over it.

"You're tearin' my guts out, Claire."

No. Claire is not hurting you. The way you feel about Claire is making you vulnerable, and that is what is hurting you. You don't get to project that onto the object of your love. Particularly not in this situation, where she was forced into marrying you and has been doing all she can to get away from you.

But, of course, Claire does care about him. And he's in pain. So she turns tender toward him and comforts him. On the one hand, I want her to resist his demand that she perform this emotional labor. On the other, she does care about him, and they've shouted themselves out. She asks forgiveness first, but he also asks, and they end up saying they forgive one another. Even so, 

There was still a vague sense of injury and constraint; things were not yet healed between us. We had forgiven each other, but our words still hung in memory, not to be forgotten.

Body Count:

Jamie: 5 + assorted redcoats + two years as mercenary in France

Claire: 1

Chapter 20: Deserted Glades

In this chapter, Action Claire, engage!

Two days after the raid, we turned again to the north.

They are getting closer to Jamie's meeting with Horrocks. Hugh Munro is hanging around and leaves a wedding gift for Claire: a metaphor!

Munro wraps the dragonfly-in-amber in a bit of Latin love poetry that makes Jamie blush as he translates it:

Then let amorous kisses dwell

On our lips, begin and tell

A Thousand and a Hundred score

A Hundred, and a Thousand more.

I know I've gone on record as anti-romance, but I find this both sweet and believable. People do quote love poems when they give wedding gifts. And it is appropriate to blush while reading them out loud. So I'm on Jamie's side here and could do without Claire's fortune cookie comment (though I appreciate her dedication to keeping our feet firmly on the ground).

Jamie is a bit nervous about the meeting with Horrocks, but takes comfort in the presence of his kinsmen. Claire does, too, until this:

"I don't suppose Dougal would take the opportunity to shoot you, at least."

"He did shoot me," Jamie said cheerfully, buttoning his shirt. "You should know, ye dressed the wound."

There follows a convoluted discussion of MacKenzie family politics that boils down to this: Dougal and Colum have various reasons for wanting Jamie dead (mostly to secure Hamish's claim to clan leadership) and various reasons for wanting to keep him close (mostly to retain access to his strategically important estate). Dougal sort of wants Jamie dead, but doesn't want it to be a public thing, so he had Rupert shoot him during the skirmish with the English way back in chapter 2 or 3. If you want more detail than that, you can just read it yourself, because I can't be bothered.

Also of importance:

"That's right," he said, nodding at me with a lopsided grin. The morning sun lit his hair with flames of gold and copper. "If I'm killed now, Sassenach, Lallybroch is yours."

It's a lovely morning and Claire and Jamie decide to ditch the others for a romp in the titular deserted glade. The men are undeceived by their pretense of gathering water, but nobody cares, so off they go.

Feeling absurdly self-conscious after that fierce and primitive encounter on the rock, I had been shy about letting him make love to me near the camp, and the woods were too thick to safely move very far from the campsite. Both of us were feeling the mild and pleasant strain of abstinence, and now, safely removed from curious eyes and ears, we came together with an impact that made my lips and fingers tingle with a rush of blood.

Wait a minute. *scrolling back* This chapter begins, "Two days after the raid . . ." Two days. There is maybe one more night in there. Call it three days. That is not abstinence, Claire. That is a refractory period. How are you two not headlining the TV Tropes page on Insatiable Newlyweds?

Then, disaster.

Two redcoat deserters catch them unawares, holding Jamie at musketpoint while getting ready to rape Claire. Is there some sort of training in the British army where they learn to rape on sight? The majority of British soldiers with speaking parts have attempted to rape Claire within a minute of encountering her.

Pressing my skirts down, I became aware of a hard object in the right-hand pocket. The dagger Jamie had given me. Could I bring myself to use it? Yes, I decided, looking at Harry's pimpled, leering face, I definitely could.

Claire tries to signal to Jamie that she's got this, though he is still, understandably, keyed up. Harry slaps Claire and assaults her. In the TV show, it was unclear just how far the attempted rape goes, but it really doesn't matter. Far enough. 

Claire puts her recent training to good use and stabs the rapist in the back. Unfortunately, she hits a rib, but rallies admirably.

Luckily, my legs were free of the entangling skirts. I wrapped them tightly around Harry's sweating hips, holding him down for the precious seconds I needed for another try. I stabbed again, with a desperate strength, and this time found the spot.

Claire has killed someone with her own hands, but she doesn't spend much time fretting over the fact. She is too shaken up by the rape.

Jamie slits the other soldier's throat and rushes to Claire.

Jamie knelt beside me, pulling me out from under the corpse.

Yikes.

They are both in bad shape, trembling, silent, and shocked. Unable to speak, they reassure one another in the language they share: sex.

I'm not a counselor of any sort. To me, having sex with your husband mere minutes after being sexually assaulted sounds like it could go terribly wrong, but I am not here to judge other people's reactions to trauma. Both Claire and Jamie seem to find some consolation in it. In Claire's description they were,

driven by a compulsion I didn't understand, but knew we must obey, or be lost to each other forever. It was not an act of love, but one of necessity, as though we knew that left alone, neither of us could stand. Our only strength lay in fusion, drowning the memories of death and near-rape in the flooding of the senses.

Do we need more examples of these characters' faith in physical experience over rational thought?  

Jamie starts babbling apologies and Claire tries to soothe him, but can't make much headway.

Shock, too, I thought fuzzily. Funny how it takes some people in talk. Others just shake quietly. Like me. I pressed his mouth against my shoulder to quiet him.

Ugh. This brings up some nasty memories. I'm one of those people who shakes uncontrollably for hours after surgery, even wrapped in multiple warming blankets. It is a very unpleasant sensation, even when it's not connected to a terrible trauma.

Dougal shows up and starts lecturing them, which sends Claire into hysterics.

Except for a lingering tendency to laugh hysterically over nothing, I seemed to suffer no ill effects from our encounter with the deserters, though I became very cautious about leaving the campsite.

It's important that Claire is feeling both fragile and vulnerable after her "near rape." She has been happily cocooned with Jamie for much of the last few chapters, but now she is reminded that she is in a dangerous place and even her best protection is fallible. She is on edge, "starting nervously at sounds in the wood" and feeling "somewhat fearful."

And what does Jamie do? Leaves her alone in the woods! Good job reading the situation here, bro.

There is some blather about it being too dangerous to take Claire along to Jamie's meeting with Horrocks, but Jamie is not picking up on Claire's current state of mind. He digs in his heels and reminds us that his expectations about wifely submission differ from Claire's:

"Did ye no promise to obey me?"

"If ye wilna do as I say, I shall tie ye to a tree until I come back."

"If you leave that copse before I come for ye, I'll tan your bare arse wi' my sword belt."

On the one hand, I am a 21st-century woman, so I aim a hearty "Fuck You" in Jamie's general direction. On the other, I am a reader, and I appreciate this reminder that, oh wait, the 18th century is a dangerous, confusing place inhabited by people who do not believe that women are autonomous adults with the rights and responsibilities of adults. And no matter how sweet Jamie is or how good he is in bed, staying with him means living in the 18th century with an 18th-century man. You've still got a few lifetimes to go before the anti-wife-beating movement gets going. Not, of course, that 1945 is going to be a feminist utopia. But there will at least be some moderate social stigma against beating a woman for disobedience.

It is in this moment, nervous, alone, with the threat of a beating hanging over her, that Claire realizes that she is near Craigh na Dun. And goes for it.

My stomach gave a sudden lurch as I thought of Jamie. God, how could I do it? Leave him without a word of explanation or apology? Disappear without a trace, after what he had done for me?

This is important, too. Claire does not actually love Jamie at this point. She feels bad about betraying him, but the pang she feels is on his account, not her own. At least, that's what the character tells us. This is undercut somewhat by a sudden blaze of jealousy at the thought of Jamie going back to Laoghaire, but even that is not enough to stop her. Claire is going home.

I hoped Jamie would forget me. I knew that I would never be able to forget him. But for now, I must put him out of my mind, or I wouldn't be able to concentrate on the job at hand, which was tricky enough.

What would happen if Claire actually got back to 1945 at this point? She has been gone for about two months. Long enough that she would have to come up with some explanation, but probably not long enough for Frank to have given up on her. If she got back and resumed her old life, would she regret it? I tend to think that the tedium of a faculty wife's life would be reassuring at first, though probably stifling in the long run for a character who thrived as a combat nurse and adapted quickly to her time travel adventure.

And what about Frank? After only two months,their relationship would probably have a chance. Or, at least, as much of a chance as it would have had after the war. Claire has been with Jamie for a month. She's talked about the passionate, but brief, flings she observed during the war — maybe this would be the same for her. Something to remember fondly, but not a crushing loss.

In any case, this is a situation where Claire's rational mind is in control. She's remembering her plan and deciding to put it into action. She's consciously setting aside "senseless reflections" and making deliberate choices. Even when she slips into a deep pool and starts to drown, she relies on rational thought to make a lifesaving plan and execute it. 

Would this episode end in a body-over-mind demurral at the last moment? Alas, we will never know.

Coughing and spluttering, I groped blindly with my free hand, too glad of rescue to regret the interruption of my escape attempt. Glad, at least until, wiping the hair out of my eyes, I looked up into the beefy, anxious Lancashire face of young Corporal Hawkins.

Well, shit.

Body Count:

Jamie: 4 + assorted redcoats + two years as mercenary in France

Claire: 1

Chapter 19: The Waterhorse

We camped the next night on the banks above Loch Ness.

This means they can't be too far from Craigh na Dun, right?

The larches and alders were a deeper green, because it was now midsummer, not late spring.

This is a good point. The seasonal difference in the TV show is a continuity issue. The adaptation changes the date of Claire's disappearance to Samhain — this is a reasonable choice that clears up the issues I noted in the first chapter, namely that WWII was not over at Beltane in 1945. But they don't really adjust the rest of the seasons to fit that. The MacKenzie party is clearly riding around in summer — all the leaves are green and they aren't freezing to death. TVJamie does mention Christmas at one point, but it is a strange non-sequitur.

After getting settled in camp, Claire heads down to the loch and wanders around a bit, enjoying the solitude.

A great flat head broke the surface not ten feet away. I could see the water purling away from keeled scales that ran in a crest down the sinuous neck. The water was agitated for some considerable distance, and I caught a glimpse here and there of dark and massive movement beneath the surface of the loch, though the head itself stayed relatively still.

Oh, shit! She actually saw the monster!

Oddly enough, I was not really afraid. I felt some faint kinship with it, a creature further from its own time than I, the flat eyes old as its ancient Eocene seas, eyes grown dim in the murky depths of its shrunken refuge.

Well, there's a thought. Does she just mean that the Loch Ness monster is an ancient species, like the coelacanth? Or is she suggesting that there might be a time passage at the bottom of the loch? That would explain some things, like why the monster seems to be in the water at some times and absent at others. But it would raise some new questions about time travel. Do different passages catapult travelers along unique chronological paths? Or is each traveler's timeline unique to the traveler? That seems to be the case with Geillis — she traveled farther than Claire. Or maybe she came through at a different site with a similar, but not identical, travel interval?

I stood there for a moment, looking out across the fathomless loch. "Goodbye," I said at last to the empty water. I shook myself and turned back to the bank.

A man was standing at the top of the slope.

Ruh roh. Claire does not need to be caught in compromising proximity to supernatural creatures.

"Ha-have mercy, lady," he stammered. To my extreme embarrassment, he then flung himself flat on his face and clutched at the hem of my dress.

Not good at all.

Also:

They were courageous fighters and dauntless warriors, but they were also as superstitious as any primitive tribesmen from Africa or the Middle East.

This postcard from Romantic Racism brought to you by British Imperialism. Shows Claire learned something while looting all those World Heritage Sites as a tot.

Scene! The shortest chapter so far.

Body Count:

Jamie: 3 + assorted redcoats + two years as mercenary in France

Chapter 18: Raiders in the Rocks

In this chapter, a raid, 18th-century privacy norms, and small-arms training.

We're back on the road. Those last two or three chapters gave Claire and Jamie some space to create their new relationship, but now we're thrust back into the wider world and all its complications.

Dougal tells Claire of his meeting with Black Jack Randall, who was not pleased to hear that she had slipped through his grasp:

"I am not sure I should tell ye what he actually said; there's likely limits even to your tolerance for bad language, Mistress Fraser."

So, are we just saying Fraser out in the open now? That's not a concern?

Dougal also refers to Claire as Colum's niece, which is true, but had not really occurred to Claire before. She spends some time pondering the vast web of her new family, which offers her some protection from Black Jack. But it is also jarring to suddenly have a defined place, enmeshed in the clans, rather than being an outsider. She's safe. Well, safer.

And that, after all, had been the point of this ridiculous arrangement.

I stole a glance at Jamie, riding ahead now. His back was straight as an alder sapling and his hair shone under the sun like a helmet of burnished metal.

Dougal followed my glance.

"Could have been worse, no?" he said, with an ironic lift of his brow.

Is Dougal actually being nice here? So hard to tell.

After days on the road, the party stops for a rest in a not-particularly cozy location among a "towering jumble of rocks." They need to hide in the rocks because they are near the border where the MacKenzie lands meet the territories belonging to the Grants and Chisholms, and they could be raided by those other clans.

Surprise! That's exactly what happens. Just in case the title left you in any doubt.

Everyone is hanging out by the fire, Murtagh singing songs, Rupert telling stories. Suddenly, the horses get restless and the men tense up, but they try to play it cool.

[A note here, Rupert tells a long story about the waterhorse's human wife, and how she was unhappy after being kidnapped and forced to live at the bottom of a loch. Solution: the waterhorse kidnaps a builder and forces him to build a hearth and chimney so that the wife can keep warm and cook her food. And the wife is happy. So I suppose all Jamie needs to do is force someone into inventing vaccines and running water and he is golden.]

Back to the raid.

All the men are moving closer to their weapons. Claire goes on a bit about Jamie's weapons: the pair of pistols, the claymore ("somber and lethal-looking"), the broadsword ("a deadly, gleaming thing with Islamic tracery snaking its way up the blue steel blade to the spiraled basket hilt, enameled in reds and blues"). If Starz wants to draw more men into their audience for this show, they should put in some more of this sword porn. Game of Thrones makes a point of showing swords glinting in firelight and dripping with blood — my brothers are all over that. And it's not just men. I can appreciate a lovely sword. I could sacrifice maybe three to five seconds of candlelight caressing Sam Heughan's abs for a single shot of him fondling a beautiful blade.

Jamie instructs Claire to hide in a cleft in the rocks, armed with a dirk. Just in time, too — the raiders jump out and the fighting begins.

On hands and knees, I made for the rocks. I banged my head and scraped my knees, but managed to wedge myself into the small crevice. Heart hammering, I fumbled for the dirk in my pocket, almost jabbing myself in the process. I had no idea what to do with the long, wicked knife, but felt slightly better for having it.

I'm assuming she has a sheath for that thing? How else would you keep a dirk in your pocket? And if it's in a sheath, how would she jab herself? 

Claire doesn't seem to be in any immediate danger, though. The raiders are out for loot, not killing. I suppose she could be kidnapped (again), but she's hidden and Murtagh is guarding her, so I'm not that worried.

In all the confusion, Claire spots Jamie and Dougal, fighting several raiders who are looking to take them alive and ransom them.

Dougal and Jamie suffered from no such scruples and were attending to business with considerable grim efficiency. Back to back, they formed a complete circle of threat, each man covering the other's weaker side. When Dougal drove his dirk hand upward with considerable force, I thought that "weaker" might not be precisely the term.

This is a pretty entertaining fight scene. Gabaldon manages to convey both Claire's horror and her admiration for the skill on display.

Jamie throws his sword at a guy. That's pretty badass. Though, contra Claire's assumption that "the wound was not deep," I'd like to point out that the man had a broadsword sticking in his leg deep enough that it had to be pulled free. How can that not be a deep wound? Maybe didn't hit bone, but that's no scratch.

In the end, the raiders carry off a couple of horses, some grain, and one captive. No one is killed, but there are some wounds, including a gash on Dougal's arm that requires stitching. Claire does her combat nurse thing.

The only needle available turned out to be a sturdy thing like a slender awl, used by the drovers to mend harness. I eyed it dubiously, but Dougal merely held out his arm and looked away.

Surely, there are finer needles somewhere in 18th-century Scotland. Forget sentimental wedding gifts — what Claire needs is a suture kit. make it happen, Dougal — you will all reap the benefits.

Whisky all around for the wounded and the shaken alike, then off to bed.

"It was a wonderful feeling to have Jamie lie down and firmly gather me in, next to his large, warm body . . . "Ye did a braw bit o' work tonight, lass. I was proud of ye."

I rolled over and put my arms about his neck.

"Not as proud as I was. You were wonderful, Jamie. I've never seen anything like that."

He snorted deprecatingly, but I thought he was pleased nonetheless.

It's nice that they can acknowledge and appreciate the other's work. This was somewhat lacking in Claire's relationship with Frank — she was openly dismissive of his scholarly work and he both expected her to give up nursing and had no interest in her botany hobby other than that it kept her busy.

Then we get an answer to the question of whether Claire has adjusted to 18th-century expectations of privacy.

"Jamie! Not here!" I said, squirming away and pushing my skirt down again.

Not quite, though 20th-century scruples fall by the wayside fairly quickly.

"Jamie! There are twenty men sleeping right next to us!" I shouted in a whisper.

"They wilna be sleeping long, if you keep talking."

As a mother of young children, I know this dilemma well. Though this has an added layer of difficulty, which is that it seems sort of bad manners to fuck your wife right in front of other men who have been going without for weeks at this point. Rude.

Despite myself, my legs were beginning to loosen. Twenty-seven years of propriety were no match for several hundred thousand years of instinct. While my mind might object to being taken on a bare rock next to several sleeping soldiers, my body plainly considered itself the spoils of war and was eager to complete the formalities of surrender.

This comes up over and over again. Claire repeatedly denies her own control over her sexual conduct, turning again and again to the idea that her body acts in opposition to her mind and that there is nothing she can do but obey her body's demands. In so many scenes, Claire's body knows what she REALLY wants and her mind is just going to have to catch up.

Now, I could get upset about this as a bland repackaging of the hoary old "no means yes" bullshit. But I am not going to do that. Because, in reading these books and doing these recaps, I am deciding to treat Outlander as literature worth analyzing. And that means I need to ask what the argument of this novel is by looking at the whole story, not just this chapter (and the thousand other times Claire repeats the body-knows-best idea). She's not the only character who thinks the flesh knows a deeper truth than the mind — we will talk more about the logic of corporal punishment when we get to the spanking scene. 

And the truth is that this line of thinking will have absolutely devastating consequences once we get to the rape at the end of the book. Jamie came through his flogging just fine — an example of mind over matter. But when Black Jack rapes him and, much worse (to him), his own body responds to the assault, that's matter over mind. And it isn't a fun, sexy adventure as it is for Claire here — it is shattering for him. 

I won't say more here because I've only seen the TV show and I'll save a close reading for when I actually get to this point in the book. But I wanted to highlight yet another example of Claire explicitly commenting on the mind/body dilemma and falling solidly on the side of matter leading the way. Why does she do this? Is she absolving herself of responsibility so she can go home to Frank with a clear conscience? Is she such a completely embodied person that she really believes in trusting physical experience over rational thought? If so, will she stick by that worldview after the end of this book? And is Diana Gabaldon really setting up this logic so that she can knock it down?

Perhaps this is more analysis than Outlander can bear. But I do think that it is trying to get at an argument about the flesh vs. the mind. Or maybe flesh vs. soul. So far, Claire's had pretty good luck trusting to her body and negating the importance of her own will. But we are only a third of the way through this novel.

That was a bit more than I expected to write on that subject. I'm still working through it. Back to the scene:

"Fighting gives ye a terrible cockstand, after. Ye want me, do ye no?" he said, pulling back a little to look at me. It seemed pointless to deny it, what with all the evidence to hand. He was hard as a brass rod against my bared thigh.

Surely, the other men are in the same predicament. Like I said, rude.

"Be quiet, Sassenach," he said with authority. "It isna going to take verra long."

oh baby oh baby

It didn't. I began to climax with the first powerful thrust, in long, racking spasms.

Sure you did.

Turning my head, I could see the dim figure of the sentry, leaning against a rock on the far side of the fire. He had his back tactfully turned. I was mildly shocked to realize that I was not even embarrassed.

And with that, you have become a true inhabitant of the 18th century. You'll be picking fleas out of your clothes and relishing wine-and-egg beverages any day now.

Next morning, Claire gets some knife-wielding lessons. Rupert instructs her on basic techniques and human anatomy.

"If ye can slip the knife between the ribs, that's one thing, but that's harder to do than ye might think. But here, under the last rib, ye stab upward into the kidney. Get him straight up, and he'll drop like a stone."

Even if I hadn't been spoiled on this, I think I would have been able to pick up on the hints that Claire is going to be stabbing someone soon. Warm up the Body Count ticker.

"As [Rupert] grew winded, all the men took it in turns to act as victim, obviously finding my efforts hilarious."

Seems harsh to laugh at someone on their first try at doing something you've been practicing since childhood. I'd like to see any of them on their first day of touch-typing. 

I was timid and extremely clumsy at first, but Rupert was a good teacher, very patient and good about demonstrating moves, over and over. He rolled his eyes in mock lewdness when he moved behind me and put his arm about my waist, but he was quite businesslike about taking hold of my wrist to show me the way of ripping an enemy across the eyes.

I like Rupert. His crude jokes lack Dougal's menacing undertones. 

Jamie and the men go off to make a dummy so that Claire can actually stab something. That leaves her a few minutes alone with Dougal:

"How is it then?" He asked, not meaning my skill with small arms.

"Well enough," I answered warily, not meaning knives either. Dougal's gaze flicked toward Jamie, busy with something by the wagons.

"Marriage seems to suit the lad," he observed.

"Rather healthy for him—under the circumstances," I agreed, somewhat coldly. His lips curved at my tone.

"And you, lass, as well. A good arrangement for everyone, it seems."

Dougal acknowledges that he is among the beneficiaries of this arranged marriage, but refrains from hitting on Claire, which I appreciate. He's still frightening, but not quite as creepy as TVDougal.

Claire goes back to her knife practice, which goes well until she hits one of the dummy's fake bones.

I thought for a moment that my arm had suddenly fallen off. The shock of impact reverberated all the way to my shoulder, and the dirk dropped from my nerveless fingers. Everything below the elbow was numb, but an ominous tingling warned me it wouldn't be for long.

Good to see that this is actually difficult. Everybody goes around imagining themselves a hero *Ben Carson* but it isn't easy to kill someone (psychologically or logistically)

This leads to a discussion of pistols and Jamie refusing to teach Claire to use one.

"I felt my face flush at this. "Oh?" I said sarcastically. "You think women aren't bright enough to understand the workings of a gun?" . . .

"Look," he said, holding it in front of me. "You hold it here, ye brace it on your forearm, and ye sight along here. And when ye pull the trigger, it kicks like a mule. I'm near a foot taller than you, four stone heavier, and I know what I'm doin'. It gives me a wicked bruise when I fire it; it might knock you flat on your back, if it didna catch ye in the face. He twirled the pistol and slid it back into its loop.

"I'd let you see for yourself," he said, raising one eyebrow, "but I like ye better wi' all of your teeth. You've a nice smile, Sassenach, even if ye are a bit feisty."

This is a reasonable argument. And yet. One would hope that they never encounter a situation where Jamie, wounded or cornered, needs Claire to load a pistol for him, or perhaps a time when Claire needs to hold someone at gunpoint and look convincing about it. It's true that black powder weapons are no joke. I grew up in a house with muzzle-loading black powder rifles, and share Jamie's concerns re: losing teeth to recoil. But I still know how to load, and I'm not living in a situation where there is even the remotest possibility of that being useful knowledge. All I'm saying is that adventure novel characters should prepare for all possible disasters.

The tiny sgian dhu, the sock dagger, was deemed acceptable, and I was provided with one of those, a wicked-looking, needle-sharp piece of black iron about three inches long, with a short hilt.

A question of little consequence: Is the "dhu" in "sgian dhu" the same as the "dhu" in "Brian Dhu"?

The chapter ends with Murtagh's opining that "the only good weapon for a woman is poison."

I imagine that Claire is perfectly capable of poisoning people, what with her knowledge of herbs. If she needs anything exotic, I'm sure Geillis can hook her up. But, as Dougal says, it's good to be prepared for face-to-face combat as well.

A final note:

I need to give some extra points to TV Canon here, as it seems that Frank's scenes in the middle of the season were invented for the show. In the novel, it has been a looooong time since we saw Frank, and Claire's thoughts about him are few and fleeting. It's difficult to take "going home to Frank" as a serious possibility when he's so distant. I appreciate the TV show's efforts to give us some sympathetic Frank scenes in this section. 

Body Count:

Jamie: 3 + assorted redcoats + two years as mercenary in France

Chapter 17: We Meet a Beggar

In this chapter, Jamie joins Jon Snow in the brotherhood of Recent-Virgin Cunnilingus Savants. Also, something about Horrocks, blah blah blah.

In the morning, Rupert and the boys go out cattle-rustling while Jamie and Claire head out on another adventure.

Topic of conversation: Horrocks, the deserter who witnessed the murder at Fort William. Jamie can't meet with the man because Black Jack and the Watch are in the area, but he considers sending Murtagh. 

Claire and Jamie sit down to share a snack among the rocks and pools of the forbidding landscape. A plover approaches them and instead of leaving it alone, Jamie decides to harass it by pushing one of its eggs out of its nest and then catching it with his bare hands. There's a story here — supposedly, plovers "have the souls of young mothers dead in childbirth," and he whispered a blessing to the bird before releasing it:

"God go with ye, Mother."

A young mother dead in childbirth. And a child left behind. I touched his arm and he looked down at me.

"How old were you?" I asked.

He gave me a half-smile. "Eight," he answered. "Weaned, at least."

That's all fine and good, but did he have to disturb the nest? That seems oddly cruel.

They hike around a bit more, with Jamie offering tips about living in the wild:

"Always hide in a forest, Sassenach," he advised me. "If ye dinna move too much yourself, the birds will tell you in plenty of time if anyone's near."

This seems practical enough that I expect we will see just this situation unfold before too long.

Staring contest! Claire wins. Jamie's all bashful again, which is fine. He isn't really sure he can trust Claire after all. With his safety, yes, but still not 100% sure if he can trust her with his pride and his emotions. At least that feels realistic. After some hemming and hawing, he coughs up his question:

"What I mean to ask is, is this . . . usual? What it is between us, when I touch you, when you . . . lie with me? Is it always so between a man and a woman?"

Claire's no fool; there is clearly a correct answer here: No, you are a very special snowflake and our love is a very special love.

"It starts out the same, but then, after a moment . . . suddenly it's as though I've a living flame in my arms . . . and I want only to throw myself into it and be consumed"

. . . said no one, ever. 

I know it's a romance novel. Or, at least, that is one of the genres with which it engages. But any time Jamie lapses into super-sincere romance talk, I'm out.

I don't mind so much when it's relegated to description. Right here, Claire thinks, 

I thought of telling him that his own touch seared my skin and filled my veins with fire. But I was already alight and glowing like a brand.

Fine. "Thought of telling him" is fine, but once this comes out as dialogue, it is just too silly.

An indeterminate amount of time later, they climb up to the top of a rock with an amazing view of the surrounding countryside. I imagine scenes like this in the TV show are doing good things for Scottish tourism this year. The description here is a bit flat — Gabaldon seems to be more comfortable with the small-scale botanical observations than with drawing these sweeping scenes.

All of a sudden, an arrow comes flying out of nowhere. I don't know anything about archery, but that has to be a pretty tricky shot, shooting a small object out of someone's hand from far, far below when they are mostly protected by a giant rock. But everything's fine, because Jamie notices that the arrow is fletched with a woodpecker's feather, so it must have been made by his friend, Hugh Munro. Nice friends you have there, Jamie.

The head burst into a jack-o'-lantern grin, snaggle-toothed and jolly, beaming with pleasure at surprising us.

Any marksman capable of pulling off a trick shot like that should have the good sense not to try it just for the sake of a laugh. Go ask Joan Vollmer.

Hugh Munro is much as he is in the TV adaptation — a man clad in rags, disfigured by torture, but affable and generous.

I had seen deaf-mute talk before, but never executed so swiftly and gracefully.

Sometimes, I forget that Claire is also an historical character. In my mental shorthand, she is a "modern" person, but then she'll say something that reminds me that she is supposed to be older than my grandparents. Her use of phrases like "deaf-mute talk" is a good reminder that she is a young woman of the mid-20th century, not the 21st.

After some pleasant conversation, Jamie explains to Claire that the metal tokens on Hugh Munro's clothing are gaberlunzies, licenses for beggars. This seems like another situation where Gabaldon saw something charming in a museum and created a character just so she could use that particular bit of arcana. Fair enough, I guess.

"Ah, well, Munro's a special case, d'ye see. He was captured by the Turks at sea. Spent a good many years rowing up and down in a galley, and a few more as a slave in Algiers. That's where he lost his tongue."

Yes, things are rough all over. Stupid 18th century.

I really didn't want to know [more about Munro's injuries], but both Munro and Jamie seemed dying to tell me. "All right," I said, resigned. "What happened to his feet?"

With something approaching pride, Munro stripped off his battered clogs and hose, exposing broad, splayed feet on which the skin was thickened and roughened, white shiny patches alternating with angry red ones.

"Boiling oil," said Jamie. "It's how they force captive Christians to convert to the Mussulman religion."

This is an interesting section because it contrasts so markedly with Jamie's attitude toward his own scars. Where Munro and Jamie are keen to go into detail about torture at the hands of the Turks, Jamie keeps the evidence his flogging a secret — it's not exactly shameful, but it inspires a terrible pity that he doesn't want to deal with. He certainly isn't proud of them, nor eager to talk about how he got them. Munro's scars mark him as a man who suffered "on behalf of Christendom," and this affords him special standing in the community. Jamie's shattered back does similar work among the proto-Jacobites, but he feels very differently about it. 

Why include this character and this plot line? It isn't strictly necessary to insert a discussion of Mediterranean/North African slavery into a book set in the Highlands of Scotland. Two guesses:

1. Jamie and Claire will end up in the Mediterranean in a future book and this will be important background information about the dangers they face.
2. At some point, Jamie will transform his injuries from a mark of shame into a tool he can deploy as strategically as Munro does.

In any case, Munro agrees to carry a message from Jamie to Horrocks so that they can meet somewhere less dangerous. This has the advantage of cutting Dougal out of the plan entirely, which will certainly please him to no end.

Speak of the devil. Dougal's back at the inn, making dirty jokes about Jamie's haggard appearance. If I hadn't seen the TV show, this passage might read as light humor, but the lingering malice of TVDougal's advance on Claire colors my reading here and makes this sound more menacing than maybe it should.

The chapter concludes with another long sex scene — one that would be super hot if Jamie would STFU. Though I must renew my objection to the premise of this scene—Claire's first experience receiving oral—as an appalling slander against my man Frank. 

Jamie's dirty talk usually starts out ok, but quickly veers into painful earnestness.

For example:

"Even when I've just left ye, I want you so much my chest feels tight and my fingers ache with wanting to touch you again . . ."

. . . good, good, stay with it here . . .

". . . I feel as though I've given ye my soul along with my cock."

Sorry, no.

"I see why the Church says it is a sacrament," Jamie said dreamily.

I think I would have been a lot more dedicated to my C.C.D. homework if this were included in the curriculum.

"I feel like God himself when I'm in you."

What.

In the TV show, Sam Heughan gives the best possible reading of this line: delivered through barely-suppressed laughter. And it is still jarringly awful.

So why do I keep reading? Because every time Jamie's dialogue goes off the rails, Gabaldon shows some self-awareness and lets Claire react in the only possible way a real person could react to that statement:

"I laughed so hard he nearly came out."

So yes, Jamie's dialogue is ridiculous. But I have faith that it is a conscious authorial choice to make his character so over-the-top in these last two chapters. And it's balanced by believable moments, like the next scene, in which Claire hauls Jamie back into the realm of the human:

"A hedgehog? And how does a hedgehog make love?" he demanded.

No, I thought. I won't. I will not. But I did. "Very carefully," I replied, giggling helplessly. So now we know just how old that one is, I thought.

Jamie collapsed in a ball, wheezing with laughter.

I try not to be a "Book Reader," that is, someone who has read a book and complains about all the changes made in the TV adaptation. But this is the sort of charming bit that makes me glad I am reading the book, not just watching the show. The show leaves in a lot of the over-the-top "Blood of my Blood" stuff, but I'm here for this: lovers enjoying one another and giggling in bed.

And on to the oral scene.

A note here: This is not a heavy BDSM scene, but they are starting to trot out some of the language of Dominance/submission here — "authority," "submissive," "brooked no opposition," "I felt exposed, invaded, helpless," "fresh assault," etc. It's mostly lighthearted and playful, but they do dance up to a line where Claire is saying "no" and she is uncomfortable, "kick[ing] and squirm[ing] wildly." I am all for these characters exploring their kinks, and I do not require that the erotica I consume meet some artificial bar of rectitude. And, in fact, I'm sort of impressed at the role-switching evident so far in their relationship. But I feel that I must issue a disclaimer encouraging readers of this book to engage in responsible play, including explicit discussions with a partner about personal boundaries and, in boundary-pushing situations, use of a safe word. In fact, I just texted my teenage sister (who is reading this with me, as are some of her friends) to encourage them to have fun exploring, but also practice self-care and open communication. Also, here's a link to a helpful article about D/s play, feminism, and consent.

In truth, Claire is on board for oral sex, but has some of the common hangups:

"I don't think—well, I'm afraid that it doesn't— I mean, the smell . . ."

Bless Jamie here, who abandons the romance-novel persona and laughs until he cries, before offering some earthy wisdom:

"Jesus God, Sassenach," he said, snorting with mirth, "don't ye know what's the first thing you do when you're getting acquainted with a new horse? . . . You rub your oxter over the beast's nose a few times, to give him your scent and get accustomed to you, so he won't be nervous of ye . . . That's what you should have done wi' me, Sassenach. You should ha' rubbed my face between your legs first thing. Then I wouldn't have been skittish."

I find this delightful. More of this, less of the pseudo-profound romantic pronouncements, please.

Then, Jamie gets down to business and I'll leave you to read that on your own.

"Jesus Christ," I said. There was a faint chuckle near my ear.

"I only said I felt like God, Sassenach, he murmured, "I never said I was."

Shut up, Jamie. You are ruining this for me.

"Does it ever stop, Claire? The wanting?"

My head fell back onto his shoulder. "I don't know, Jamie, I really don't."

Well, fuck. You're a goner, Claire. Not that I have found your feeble escape plans particularly convincing before now. Frank is a vague and distant memory. And with that last line, it seems like you've forgotten any reasons you may have once had for going back.

That's the end of the chapter, but can we talk for a minute about the weird trope of the Hero as Cunnilingus Savant? A lot of the similarities between Jamie Fraser and Jon Snow are standard hero stuff — the skill at arms masking a sensitive soul, father unjustly killed by dastardly enemy, circumstances preventing him from being the lord he is meant to be, etc. But the whole "I am a virgin who appreciates my partner's substantial sexual experience, but am still able to introduce her to oral sex, at which I am preternaturally skilled" is a fairly specific thing. My best reading of this is that it is supposed to show Our Hero as a civilized man among brutes. He is a virgin not because he has not had opportunities, but because his personal morality forbids fleeting liaisons. Other men don't care about pleasing the ladies, but Our Hero does. And, of course, he is a pro on his first try, not just because he is good at everything he does, but because he is just so enthusiastic about pleasing his female partner that he bypasses incidental things like practice and feedback. 

Not that I am complaining! If we want to evaluate our Heterosexual Male Heroes by how eagerly they eat pussy, I will not object. Need a new TV Tropes page, though.

Body Count:

Jamie: 3 + assorted redcoats + two years as mercenary in France

Chapter 16: One Fine Day

In this chapter, twitterpated Jamie is barf-inducingly adorable.

The hard-won intimacy of the night seemed to have to have evaporated with the dew, and there was considerable constraint between us in the morning.

This is True.

They dance around one another for a while. Eventually, Claire urges Jamie to speak up on grounds of their "honesty" vow.

It was unfair, but I couldn't really stand any more nervous throat-clearing and eye-twitching.

Bless.

"I was going to say," he said softly, "that I hoped the man who had the honor to lie first wi' you was as generous as you were with me."

Awww. That's really sweet actually. Also, is he not assuming that Frank was the first person Claire slept with? If so, that is both surprising and endearing. Also, Starz, where is my Teen Claire, Sex-Positive Archaeologist spinoff?

They cute around for another few paragraphs. Then Claire asks why Jamie is hanging with Dougal anyway, instead of going to the Frasers. A good question, considering what a jerk Dougal is to him.

Answer:

"Well, for a time after—after I left the Fort, I didna care much . . . about anything. My father died about that time, and my sister . . . Dougal told me that—that my sister was wi' child. By Randall."

Hrm. I think I missed this wrinkle in the show. I know Jamie thought that Randall had fathered Jenny's child, but I don't think I realized that it was Dougal who had poured this particular poison in Jamie's ear. Christ, what an asshole.

Also:

"Dougal told me that she . . . that after the child was born, she . . . well, of course, she couldna help it; she was alone—damn it, I left her alone! He said she had taken up wi' another English soldier, someone from the garrison, he didna know which one."

Now, granted, Dougal's fuckery knows no limits. Seriously, fuck that guy. But this isn't really a shining moment for Jamie either. I guess it's one of those 18th-century things, where a woman who has been defiled is so toxic that looking at her will burn your eyes out of your head, but still. If you really believe that your sister was impregnated by her rapist and is now trading sex for protection with her hated enemies, maybe you should, I dunno, go help her out? And I get that seeing her again would make him feel the depths of his own shame and that he still hasn't worked through his emotions about his father's death and all. But honestly, help your sister. No use practicing humility in a monastery for months on end if you come out just as Proud as you went in.

In any case, Jamie came back to Scotland because he heard about an English deserter named Horrocks who had witnessed the murder Jamie is accused of committing. And Horrocks is staying with someone who is connected to the MacKenzies, so Jamie came to the MacKenzies to try to get information that might lead to a pardon.

Except that then Jamie got hit on the head with an ax and nearly died.

"I wondered afterward, ye know, whether perhaps [Dougal] had done it."

Claire is puzzled by this, but Jamie explains that Dougal is worried that Jamie might challenge him for leadership of clan MacKenzie when Colum dies. Fair enough.

Jamie doesn't want to be laird:

"I havena the taste for power at the cost of other men's blood."

He explains how all this relates to the goings-on during the oathtaking, etc. etc. political machinations, dangerous uncles, etc. etc.

And this:

"You'd make a verra poor spy, Sassenach. Everything ye think shows on your face, plain as day . . . I asked ye for honesty last night, but it wasna really necessary; it isna in you to lie."

As with Frank's assessment that Claire is "terrifyingly practical," we shall see how this holds up over time.

After a brief glimpse of the vaguely threatening Watch, Claire and Jamie head out on a Highland picnic. Claire contemplates their chances of success if they were to run away together but, judging them poor, settles in for some fishing lessons.

Met one month, married one day. Bound by vows and by blood. And by friendship as well. When the time came to leave, I hoped that I would not hurt him too badly.

Claire, nobody believes you are going to run away. Give it a rest.

Jamie catches a fish for Claire and I would make jokes about his "holding out a solid fourteen-incher," but the truth is that this is all very sweet and charming.

I had time, watching him declaim, to reflect on the oddity of sitting on a rock in a Scottish pool, listening to Gaelic love songs, with a large dead fish in my lap. And the greater oddity that I was enjoying myself very much.

Surely, some calamity lurks on the next page, because this is all too idyllic to last.

I could feel the shyness and constraint beginning to creep back. I reached out a hand and grasped his tightly, hoping that the touch would reestablish the ease between us as it had before.

I am really enjoying the attention that Gabaldon lavishes on this uncomfortable aspect of new love.

Sensing the awkwardness, Jamie surmises that Claire is thinking of Frank and (wisely) begins to ask non-threatening questions about him.

Claire compares the two men in her mind, reflecting that it would be "difficult to imagine a greater contrast" between them. They are different in body type, complexion, personality, age . . .

Wait a minute. Frank is 15 years older than Jamie? So Jamie is 23, Claire is 27, and Frank is 38? That means that Frank was about 30 when he married 19-year-old Claire. I mean, ok, I guess. But if my 19-year-old sister announced she was marrying a 30-year-old man, we would probably have a chat about that. It's no big deal at 27 and 38. But someone my age marrying a teenager? I guess it was a different time and all. Also, Claire never went to college, I guess. I suppose nurse's training during WWII?

Also this:

"As a lover, Frank was polished, sophisticated, considerate, and skilled."

As far as I am concerned, these are all synonyms for "A+ Oral." Therefore, my belief in TV Canon is vindicated.

As for Jamie:

Lacking experience or the pretense of it, Jamie simply gave me all of himself, without reservation. And the depth of my response to that unsettled me completely.

I know our romantic hero is supposed to be sexxxy, but really, this is just adorbs. He's like a puppy.

I had kissed my share of men, particularly during the war years, when flirtation and instant romance were the light-minded companions of death and uncertainty.

Now, wait just a minute, missy. You got all huffy-offended when Frank tried to ask whether you'd slept with anybody during the war. If I recall correctly, it was all,

"Do you think I've been unfaithful to you? Do you? Because if so, you can leave this room this instant. Leave the house altogether! How dare you imply such a thing?"

That's a pretty high level of outrage if the real story is, "No, I didn't sleep with anybody, but I did make out with 'my share of men.'" No shame in kissing other people, especially given the circumstances. But damn, in retrospect, a little harsh on poor Frank when he tried to broach the subject.

My mouth opened beneath his, wholeheartedly accepting both promise and challenge without consulting me.

Ok, first, your mouth does not have a heart. Second, your mouth and your heart are both connected to your brain, so don't go around deflecting responsibility for your actions. Kiss him, by all means, but take some responsibility, woman.

Besotted Jamie continues ratcheting up the cuteness:

"It is a gift and a wonder to me, to know that I can please you—that your body can rouse to mine. I hadna thought of such a thing—beforehand."

In fact, I am glad that I saw the TV show before reading this because I know that his character will have additional facets at some point. In context, lovestruck Jamie is just one aspect of his personality, and I have seen that he is perfectly capable of being vain, pigheaded, and stupid. Which is good, because the rosy-tinted, punch-drunk, lovey-dovey thing has a short shelf life. Not that I object to Jamie being emotionally vulnerable and open with Claire. I'm just glad I know that there is more than marshmallows and rainbows ahead for them. Also, good luck on the not hurting him when you leave, Claire.

And off they go, sexing in the underbrush.

"If you say 'thank you' once more, I will slap you."

See, Claire knows what I'm talking about.

Lying in the weeds, watching Jamie sleep, Claire finally confronts the fact that she actually likes him. Not loves — she counts this as an "infatuation." But, unlike the harmless crushes of the war years, now she has "been forced to act on it."

And God only knew what harm might be done by that action. But there was no turning back from this point.

Except your plan to escape, right? I mean, you do plan to turn back in a literal way. Right?

Well, I thought, the action had been taken, and it was far past the time for restraint. Nothing I did now could make matters worse, for either of us.

Um, no. Claire. A short list of things that could make this worse for both of you:

1. Pregnancy
2. You falling in love with him
3. Pregnancy
4. Him falling deeper in love with you, though I confess that seems like a done deal at this point
5. IF YOU KEEP FUCKING HIM, YOU ARE GOING TO GET PREGNANT, WHICH WILL BE A MAJOR STEP UP IN THE COMPLICATIONS DEPARTMENT

Yes, Claire may believe she is infertile, but that is based on dubious evidence. She and Frank were separated for the majority of their marriage, so they may have just been unlucky. And even if one of them is infertile, it's just as likely to be Frank as Claire. I guess we will find out, since Claire, A NURSE, has approximately the same understanding of human fertility as a highschooler from an abstinence-only state.

And what happens if she gets pregnant? Can you go through the stones pregnant? Would she even try? Would she leave a baby behind?

In any event, let's give a round of applause to Diana Gabaldon, who can write a pretty hot blow job scene without using the words "penis" or "mouth" or any of their synonyms or euphemisms. Like one of those novels that goes 100,000 words without ever using the letter "e."

The lovers head back to the inn. Jamie reveals that he made Dougal agree to three conditions before he would marry Claire:

1. Jamie and Claire would stay at the inn for a few days while Dougal completed his business in the vicinity (thoughtful and practical)
2. They would have a "proper" wedding in a church, with a priest (Ok, I guess, though I have already opined on the necessity of their public vows vs. their private vows. Also, Claire would probably have been ok with skipping that particular church. So the ceremony seems to be for his sake, which may tell us something about his personal beliefs.)
3. Claire had to have a pretty dress so that everything would be "as pleasant as might be for you" (A sweet thought. It would be pretty far down my list of desires in that situation, but that's me. Claire seems to have appreciated it.)

The price of food was company . . .

Back in the inn, Jamie and Claire are in for some good-natured ribbing, but they take it in stride. There is food and drink and wild dancing and everyone has a jolly time. Jamie hands all his money over to the innkeeper to keep the whisky flowing, but Rupert presents him with another purse as a wedding gift. Rupert seems like a good guy. Crude, but kind. 

Then back up to the private room. Jamie starts fawning over Claire's hair, and I grow impatient. Staaaaaahp. We all know Jamie is dreamy. Does he really need to spend quite so much time reassuring Claire and assuaging her insecurities? I guess he gets a one-day grace period to be all calf-eyed and smitten. And then we will have to remember that there are conflicts around here somewhere.

There is a lot of mushy dialogue here. Plus pet names. Jamie calls Claire "mo duinne," which I'm pretty sure is not what he calls her in the show, but then, I have not quite worked out Gaelic's funhouse phonics, so it could be.

"Rather a dull color, brown, I've always thought."

Now you're just fishing for compliments, Claire. 

But in all this, we do get a discussion that brought my eyes back from rolling around. Jamie notes that the MacKenzies still haven't worked out whether she's an English spy or a French spy or some other sort of spy, as no theory fits all the facts.

"And what about you?" I asked, pulling hard at a stubborn tangle. "What do you think I am?"

He tilted his head appraisingly, looking me over more carefully.

Not French; apparently, Jamie is fluent in French and can tell that Claire isn't a native speaker. Not Spanish either, nor German. Jamie has noticed that Claire's English is "more than a little odd," but it seems that the marriage was also sort of a test. She didn't run away, which is evidence against her being an English spy. I think I see a flaw in this reasoning — she could just be a very committed spy, willing to take one for the team, as it were. Conclusion:

"Damned if I know, Sassenach. Damned if I know. There isna any reasonable explanation I can think of for you. You might be one of the Wee Folk, for all I know . . . no, I suppose not. You're too big."

Let's brainstorm some more plausible explanations for Claire's presence in Scotland:

1. She is fleeing an unhappy marriage or engagement in England, possibly to someone powerful enough that it would be worth turning her over if she were discovered.
2. She has been convicted of a crime and is fleeing prison/execution/maiming/transportation.
3. She is looking for someone — maybe her little sister is a runaway bride or a convicted murderer.
4. Shipwrecked. With a dark secret.
5. Whatever. Fairies is probably close enough. Bedtime!

Though it is an interesting question: How does Jamie explain Claire to himself? At the moment, he does not care very much beyond OMG: Sex, Who Knew?, but that will not be satisfying for very long. Since I have seen the TV show, I know that she eventually tells him about the time travel, but that doesn't fully answer the question either. Ok, she's a time traveler. What does that mean? Who is she? Why can she travel when others can't? Does she have other supernatural powers? Is she in control of her travel? Or is she getting tossed around Dr. Sam Beckett-style? I support the addition of holograms to this series.

"Aren't you afraid I might kill you in your sleep some night, if you don't know who I am?"

Well, I am now.

But Jamie just laughs this off and gives her his dirk and some tips on stabbing technique.

"Sassenach?"

I stopped, dirk still in my hand.

"What?"

"I'll die a happy man."

And that concludes the saccharine overload that is this chapter. 

Body Count:

Jamie: 3 + assorted redcoats + two years as mercenary in France

Chapter 15: Revelations of the Bridal Chamber

In this chapter, well. Oh my.

"I want this marriage consummated wi' no uncertainty whatsoever,"

said Dougal, on behalf of the prurient audience. "Furthermore, it is very important that this marriage is absolutely necessary for your survival, so you can have tons of adulterous sex without feeling bad about it," I added in my head.

How in the name of God did this happen? I asked myself some time later. Six weeks ago, I had been innocently collecting wildflowers on a Scottish hill to take home to my husband. I was now shut in the room of a rural inn, awaiting a completely different husband, whom I scarcely knew, with firm orders to consummate a forced marriage, at risk of my life and liberty.

This is an important passage because of the way that Gabaldon frames Claire's "before" and "after." In 1945, Claire was innocent and wholesome. She even remembers her botanical hobby in terms of pleasing Frank ("to take home to my husband"), despite the fact that Frank actually had zero interest in her plants. Collecting wildflowers was representative of the way Claire was reshaping her life to serve Frank — trading in nursing work for a ladylike hobby to occupy her mind while she hosted tea parties for his students and colleagues. She may remember it differently, but I have the luxury of flipping back to Chapter 1 at my leisure.

Claire uses very different terms when she thinks about 1743; her marriage to Jamie is all about being "shut in," "orders," "forced," etc. Because she has no choice in the matter, she cannot hold herself accountable for her actions, and neither can the reader. This is something of a narrative cop-out. Circumstances give Claire permission to cheat on Frank, allowing us all to enjoy this erotic adventure without condemning Claire. We like Claire! We don't want to disapprove of her! So Diana Gabaldon has given us permission to root for Claire and Jamie here by forcing them into sex, rather than allowing them to choose. 

Of course, this whole setup assumes that we should disapprove of Claire if she were to decide to sleep with Jamie without the pressure of impending imprisonment/torture/rape/death. Which is some bullshit. Absolving Claire by taking away her power to make choices for herself rubs me the wrong way. It reminds me of discussions about abortion that devolve into questions of "well, what if she was raped?" As if women who are forced into sex deserve care and sympathy, but women who have sex for fun are contemptible whores. I think this would be a more interesting book if Claire slept with Jamie because she wanted to, not because she was forced to. A more risky book, I suppose. Grumble.

Not that Claire doesn't want to sleep with Jamie. The textual evidence of previous chapters leaves that in little doubt. But nothing makes this book seem more "romance novel" to me than the fact that it takes some byzantine plotting to get our protagonists into bed in a way that robs them both of accountability. The flip side — the implication that choosing to have sex for fun/comfort/companionship would make these characters less sympathetic — is obnoxious.

Despite all that, there is a lot to like about this chapter! In particular, the attention paid to the extreme awkwardness of sex with a new partner was well done. The framing may be disappointing, but the content is textured.

I eyed him dubiously. I supposed it would be harder if I found him unattractive; in fact, the opposite was true. Still, I had not slept with any man but Frank in over eight years.

I appreciate this reminder that Claire was not a virgin on either of her wedding nights. It goes a long way toward smoothing the feathers ruffled by the forced marriage plot.

"Tell me about your husband," said Jamie.

A surprise move! But one that shows Jamie's ability to read a situation and his basic kindness.

"Look ye, lass. We have three or four days together here."

Goodness. I would not have expected such generosity from Dougal.

"We have a bit of time to talk, and get over being scairt of each other." This blunt appraisal of our situation relaxed me a little bit.

God knows Claire is all for bluntness. In fact, I'm a little surprised when she demurs a few times here, for example, not pressing Jamie on the question of his virginity. Simple curiosity has always been enough motivation for her in the past.

By mutual agreement, they devise a new new wedding vow for themselves, as expressed by Jamie: 

"I'll ask nothing of ye that ye canna give me. But what I would ask of ye — when you do tell me something, let it be the truth. And I'll promise ye the same. We have nothing now between us, save — respect, perhaps. And I think that respect has maybe room for secrets, but not for lies."

That's lovely. And, I expect, difficult to live up to. But I like it much better than all that "Blood of my Blood" nonsense.

For her first question, Claire asks Jamie why he married her. Answer: to keep her safe. Faintly patronizing, but practical, under the circumstances. And more than a bit touching.

"You have my name and my family, my clan, and if necessary, the protection of my body as well."

Why did they even bother with the other vows? These seem to be the important ones.

I hoped only that I could offer him something in return.

Indeed. 

Though I do appreciate Diana Gabaldon's execution of this bargain. Sex-for-protection could be bleakly transactional, but these characters have enough dimension that they have more to offer one another.

Jamie breaks out the wine with a callback to the time they got tipsy together in Colum's hall. Claire generally doesn't need any help being forthright, but this won't hurt.

Jamie admits that one of his reasons for marrying Claire was that he wanted to sleep with her, which gives us a nice moment of conflicting morals:

"You wouldn't necessarily have had to marry me for that," I objected. He appeared honestly scandalized. "You do not think I would take ye without offering marriage!"

You tell him, Claire. 

Side note: "take" is one of my least favorite sex euphemisms. As in "take" someone's virginity. Shudder. 

Question: is "lowest common denominator" an 18th-century expression?

I couldn't, in fairness, say that the thought had not entered my mind, even before the absurd situation in which we found ourselves arose.

Nice that you've admitted to yourself what was already obvious to casual observers.

There follows a long discussion of Jamie's family history. No doubt, we will come to know plenty more about the people named here, including:

Brian Fraser

Ellen MacKenzie Fraser

Auntie Janet and Auntie Jocasta and their children

Dougal's four(!) daughters

Jenny Fraser

Jacob MacKenzie

Simon Fraser, Lord Lovat (and his wives)

Question: Is this the real historical figure, Lord Lovat? Or a fictional version? I only know one thing about the real Lord Lovat, which is that he was the last person in Great Britain executed by public beheading. So that does not bode well for Jamie's Fraser relations. But isn't it a bit dicey having a fictional character related to a real historical figure? I suppose there will be some sort of explanation eventually.

From there, he had gone to France, where he had spent two years fighting with the French army, around the Spanish border.

I will update the body count to reflect this new information.

There is also discussion of Jamie's head injury, along with mention of an unnamed "English visitor" who was staying with Dougal at the time. We learn that Dougal sent Jamie to recover at the French Abbey where his uncle, Alexander Fraser, is abbot. That brings us right about up to the time when Claire arrived.

"Why did you come back to Scotland in the first place, though? I should have thought you'd be much safer in France." He opened his mouth to reply, then reconsidered, sipping wine. Apparently I was getting near the edge of his own area of secrecy.

Good to know. It's nice to have these little mysteries to solve along the way.

A scholar of antiquities made as much — or as little — sense in the eighteenth century as in the twentieth.

They talk on and on, getting to know one another.

"It is awfully late," I said, getting up too. "Maybe we should go to bed."

And they do.

The TV show kept a lot of this dialogue ("I said I was a virgin, not a monk."), but left this out, for some reason I cannot fathom:

"'Holy God,' said James Fraser, who never took the name of his Lord in vain."

There is a lot of silliness in this book, but that is wonderful. Perhaps one of the things that elevates this book is the clear voice of the protagonist that comes through in a line like that. That level of snark would tip over into bitchiness in a lot of people, but she tempers it with enough kindness that it comes through as gentle, but still just a bit sharp.

The rest of this scene is a bit too cozy, though. I really miss Caitriona Balfe's splendid acting in the wake of Jamie's first effort. Her face is such a perfect blend of disappointment, exasperation, pity, and forbearance — it's sublime.

Oh dear.

"You've never seen people make love?" I was surprised at this.

Me too. Not much privacy in the 18th century.

There follows a discussion of Jamie's experience with sex-ed, comprising some mysterious rustlings obscured by blankets, witnessing a rape, seeing various animals mate, and getting some hair-raising advice from Murtagh, Rupert, and Ned.

"A good bit of it sounded verra unlikely to me, though, so I thought I'd best use my own best judgment."

A decent start, I suppose, but Claire has her work cut out for her.

"Did ye know that snakes have two cocks?"

This sounds like something Diana Gabaldon learned once and thought it was so cool she had to find a way to work it in somehow, relevance be damned.

"Because I want to look at you."

I've mentioned how much I am enjoying reading a series that takes female sexual desire seriously, haven't I? More of this, please.

Later, Claire makes the mistake of opening the door, dressed in her shift, exposing herself to the ribald jests of the "witnesses" waiting in the taproom. Hilarity all around, etc. Everyone seems to be having a merry time, which just emphasizes the general mood of this chapter. I'm glad that the characters get a short glimmer of cheerfulness here, though I do feel a bit sorry for the men who have to go to bed alone after all of this carousing.

Back upstairs:

Not wanting to lecture nor yet to highlight my own experience, I let him do what he would, only offering an occasional suggestion, such as that he might carry his weight on his elbows and not my chest.

Another good example of the character's voice. Claire does eventually embrace her role as "an instructress in the arts of love," dropping mind-blowing knowledge such as the existence of the female orgasm.

"Only if the man is a good lover."

This, however, is not going to do anybody any good, Claire. Beyond stamina and "a sort of unflagging joy," Jamie does not know what he is doing. Too much praise too early and he might get complacent. Also, I don't think it is possible to say this with a straight face.

I was slightly alarmed to see the look of frank interest being replaced with one of growing determination.

*Danger!* *Danger!*

See, now look what you've done, Claire. Perhaps the author or one of her close confidantes has been on the receiving end of this troublesome sort of "determination"? No fun.

Jamie continues to express anxiety about hurting Claire, which she (righteously) finds super annoying. Having had enough of this nonsense, Claire shuts him up by giving him his first blow job and not being gentle about it. At this point, it becomes clear to Jamie that the whole wide world of sexual exploration is open and that Claire is game for more than just vanilla fucking. Which will redound to all of our benefits, I am sure.

However, I must take exception with this next part. It is revealed here that Claire has never received oral sex. I feel that I must defend Frank's honor. We are meant to believe that Frank is an experienced and skillful lover, older than Claire, and someone who has had a fair number of sex partners. This revelation besmirches his credentials and I will not let it stand. Plus, that scene between ShowClaire and ShowFrank was

1. hot 
2. important for establishing the tone of the show

So I have decided to reject this particular paragraph in the novel in favor of the TV Canon.

Claire has another indistinct nightmare and wakes terrified. Jamie springs into ninja mode, but there is nothing to fight. He tries to comfort Claire instead. They end up declaring their feelings:

"I don't hate you."

"I don't hate you, either. And there's many good marriages have started wi' less than that."

Awwww.

My qualms aside, I think this is a great chapter that made an even better TV episode. Yes, yes, it is all very sexy and we can go on about all the exceptionally lovely butts involved. But besides that, the TV adaptation of this chapter was probably one of the best sex scenes I've ever seen on TV. So often, sex on TV is the visual equivalent of the sentence, "And then they had sex." There will be some amorous embraces, maybe some perfunctory moaning, and then it will cut away to the next scene. This is really different. Yes, it is explicit, but it's telling the story of how two characters build an intimate relationship. You wouldn't expect a dramatic argument between two characters to cut out after the first 10 seconds and then pick up with them saying, "well, I'm glad we sorted that out" the next morning. You hear the whole argument. And that's what this TV episode felt like. It started out with two people who were believably awkward with one another, saw them negotiate the terms of intimacy, and left them with a believable bond at the end. 

Body Count:

Jamie: 3 + assorted redcoats + time as mercenary in France

Chapter 14: A Marriage Takes Place

In this chapter, plenty of alcohol, a pretty dress, and a sickeningly earnest blood vow.

Claire wakes up with a terrible hangover. She can only offer passive resistance to Murtagh and the publican's wife, who get her up and dressed for her nuptials.

"Ye dinna want to miss yer own wedding, now, do ye?"

"Yes," I said, but was ignored as she unceremoniously stripped off my shift and stood me in the middle of the floor for further intimate attentions.

Claire gets through this will a little hair of the dog and a high level of disdain for the proceedings:

"We who are about to die," I said to my reflection, sketching a salute in the glass. I collapsed on the bed, plastered a wet cloth over my face, and went back to sleep.

Well done.

But Ned and Murtagh won't leave her alone. They come back with various attendants, bearing baskets of flowers and a gown. It's not the same as the gown in the TV show, but it sounds nice enough. I dunno, I don't really care that much. My own wedding dress was a cocktail dress I bought off the rack at Macy's for $98, so what do I know? But my sister is a costume designer and she loved that dress in the TV show, so I'll take her word for it. I liked the embroidery, but the bodice looked like it was squishing poor Catriona Balfe's boobs. And I say that as someone who has worn plenty of historically-accurate corsets in my day. They can actually be comfortable if they aren't too tight — good for the posture. It does note here that "the fit was not quite perfect," so we'll just say that tortured breasts are canonical and call it a day.

Claire is still protesting the marriage, but feebly. And she does seem to be enjoying a chance not to be wallowing in filth, both for her own sake and for the admiring attention of the men. 

Not that she's completely resigned:

Marrying. Oh, God. Buoyed temporarily by port wine and cream lace, I had momentarily managed to ignore the significance of the occasion. I gripped the banister as fresh realization hit like a blow in the stomach.

To be fair, I think that happens to people even if they're not being forced into marriage.

And here's her third glass of wine so far this morning.

Suddenly, the inn door opened, and the sun came out, in the person of James. If I was a radiant bride, the groom was positively resplendent. My mouth fell open and stayed that way.

Awwww. I'm sort of sad that they reversed this in the TV show. Not that the people at Starz are shy about letting us admire Sam Heughan. But they switched this moment and made it Jamie admiring Claire when he saw her. Sort of conventional and boring. Here, it's Jamie who is "breath-taking." Points go to Book Canon on this one.

His tartan was a brilliant crimson and black that blazed among the more sedate MacKenzies in their green and white.

Did we establish whether this is based in reality (vs. being a 19th-century romantic invention)?

Dougal and Jamie hiss at each other a bit, first over the tartan and then over Jamie's mother's pearls. Jamie gives them to Claire here, which makes more sense than the TV show version.

We made a rather morose wedding party, the bridal pair encircled by the others like convicts being escorted toward some distant prison.

In addition to a body count, we should also be keeping track of Claire and Jamie's imprisonments, both physical and metaphorical.

Through the drizzle and mist, I saw the chapel jutting out of the heather. With a sense of complete disbelief, I saw the round-shouldered roof and the odd little many-paned windows, which I had last seen on the bright sunny morning of my marriage to Frank Randall.

WHAT? Shit! That is very unfortunate.

"No!" I exclaimed. "Not here! I can't."

Yeah, this is pretty rough. 

Unable to tell anyone the truth, Claire channels her hysteria into protests that she doesn't even know Jamie's real name.

"It's Fraser. James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser."

True story: When I first got the idea to start this recap blog, I spent a week going back and forth about whether I should actually do it. Not that I don't enjoy it, but I have a job and little kids and a book draft that is not finished and sort of a lot going on in my marriage, and I wasn't sure I could commit to a new project. On the very day I had given myself the ultimatum to either start writing or forget about it altogether, I was driving to pick up my son from daycare and found myself stopped at a light behind a red car with the license plate "FRASER." And here we are. (No pics, as I was driving, but it was a Massachusetts plate and was something along the lines of a tallish, boxy, car-based SUV, like a Kia Sportage.)

Thus inescapably pinioned, I squelched up the path to my wedding.

I'm sure we can discuss at length whether Diana Gabaldon is a "good" writer. But I enjoy this character's voice, and that's good enough for me.

Rupert was idly slicing a willow twig with a large knife, and while he had laid aside his horn-handled pistols on entering the church, they remained in easy reach on the rim of the baptismal font. The other men also disarmed, as was suitable in the house of God, leaving an impressively bristling pile of lethality in the back pew.

Claire is not enjoying this wedding. Phrases from this page: "cold, hollow shell," "empty pit of my stomach," "numbed," "chilly," "cold."

She finds some comfort in the realization that Jamie is as nervous as she is.

Whatever we were in for, at least there were two of us.

They stammer their way through their vows, Claire "wish[ing] fervently for a drink."

The ring bit is different from the TV show — here, Jamie gives her one of his own rings. It doesn't fit (like their marriage), so maybe she'll get a more permanent one later. Also, I thought that women in 18th-century Britain wore wedding rings on their thumbs, but I don't remember where I heard that, so it may not be true.

More mumbling from the priest, and Jamie bent to kiss me. It was clear that he intended only a brief and ceremonial touching of lips, but his mouth was soft and warm and I moved instinctively toward him.

Get it, Claire.

Then Dougal slices their wrists so they can swear a blood vow. Is a vow binding if you don't understand the words you are repeating? Help us out here, Ned.

Claire gets through the wedding, but faints on the walk away from the chapel. 

I came to lying on damp leaves, my head in my new husband's lap. He put down the wet cloth with which he had been wiping my face.

"That bad, was it?" He grinned down at me, but his eyes held an uncertain expression that rather touched me, in spite of everything. 

No worries. Still a little drunk from breakfast.

Judging by a quick Etsy search, the part where Jamie recites the blood vow in English is a big favorite in the fandom. "Blood of my Blood, and Bone of my Bone," etc. I imagine this will be repeated at significant junctures in future books. But it's more than a little earnest for my taste. I'm sure there are better quotes to embroider on a pillow.

They briefly (and awkwardly) discuss the necessity of consummating the marriage. Which, TBH, is one of the main reasons for reading this book, so let's get to it.

Body Count:

Jamie: 3 + assorted redcoats

Chapter 13: A Marriage is Announced

In this chapter, gruesome torture and several bombshells.

When last we saw Claire, she was mouthing off to an dangerous sadist who had just punched her in the gut. Somehow, she is not dead. Instead, she is downstairs recovering while Dougal MacKenzie has a shouting match with Black Jack Randall. What did you think was going to happen when you left her alone with him, Dougal?

I knew the man was not my husband, but the resemblance was so strong and my habits so ingrained, that I had been half-inclined to trust him, and had spoken to him as I would have to Frank, expecting civility, if not active sympathy.

Set aside for a moment the plausibility of the resemblance between Black Jack and Frank. If Claire sees Frank so clearly when she encounters Black Jack, I imagine the opposite would be true. What might it be like for her to go back to Frank and have to look at Black Jack's face every day? 

On the other hand, putting 200 years between Claire and this man seems like an excellent plan. Claire is thoroughly creeped out by him, noting the "extraordinary look of speculative acquisitiveness" on Randall's face. Run!

In fairness, Dougal and Claire do get the hell out of there. They ride for a while before Dougal leads Claire off into the woods without explaining where they are going. 

The next few paragraphs are confusing — I don't know whether to read this as a part of Claire's character or as a writing misstep. Dougal is hurrying along, snapping branches, moving "abruptly," clearly in a state of high agitation. Yet, Claire experiences this walk as peaceful. She hears birds singing (they are apparently not disturbed by the branch-snapping). She breathes in the "sharp scents" of the hillside and notes the abundant flowers. "I badly needed a little peace, and I felt it here." Perhaps Claire is someone who has an extraordinary ability to achieve inner calm in a moment of heightened stress. Because the way Dougal is acting would have me tensing for another punch, not waxing poetic on whether discarded trash in the forest is a fair price to pay for modern conveniences.

Dougal leads Claire to a "saint's pool," a small sulfur spring dedicated to the worship of St. Ninian. He urges her to drink, then starts battering her with questions.

"Are ye a spy for the English or the French? he asked, with another bewildering change of subject. At least he was being direct for a change.

Claire holds up well under the barrage, keeping her cool and answering honestly and simply. Dougal tries to unnerve her by covering all sorts of topics, including Jamie's whipping. He is surprised to learn that Jamie has already told her some of the story.

"He must think well of ye," he said musingly. "He doesna generally speak of it to anyone."

People do seem to tell Claire a lot of things they shouldn't. Convenient for the reader, but somewhat unsettling.

Jamie was my patient, and to some extent, my friend as well. I had no wish to discuss his personal history with Dougal, though I would, if pressed, admit to a certain morbid curiosity.

Honestly, it does not take much pressing. Your nosiness is one of the things I cherish about you, Claire.

"And I'll tell ye, lass, watchin' men bein' flogged is not pleasant."

The only time I have seen a flogging (through my fingers) is on TV, and yes, even the fake flogging is mighty unpleasant. This book does not really shy away from detailed descriptions, though. What are we to make of this? Is it just to satisfy the "morbid curiosity" of a protagonist standing in for the reader? Are we supposed to be thinking of Christ's torture? Or how Jamie's attitude toward his torture(s) changes over various incidents? I think I'll need to read through to the end before I offer any coherent thoughts on how this book deals with physical violence. A lot of it may be prurient, but the book seems to be interested in the physical experience of pain as a crucial element of character development. As someone who tends to live in my head more than my body, I find these characters' embodiment fascinating. That is, they seem to live in the now and to place trust in their physical selves in a way that is alien to me, and I am interested to see how Diana Gabaldon develops that strand of characterization.

Dougal went on with his ghastly story.

This is such an odd line. What sort of audience is Claire imagining here? Clearly, I, the reader, know that the story is continuing. I do not need to be told. Perhaps she is emphasizing that it is "ghastly" and that I should feel uncomfortable for my avid consumption of a torture scene? Or is she explaining herself, knowing that she is "morbidly curious" and trying to acknowledge that she is uncomfortable with a story that is both repulsive and sort of a violation of Jamie's privacy?

"Aye, lass, courage like that is uncommon rare. It wasna ignorance, mind; he'd just seen two men flogged and he knew the same was coming to him. It's just he had made up his mind there was no help for it. Boldness in battle is nothing out of the way for a Scotsman, ye ken, but to face down fear in cold blood is rare in any man. He was but nineteen at the time."

This is somewhat different than the earlier discussion of courage/cowardice involving facing down a mob. In this case, it's not a matter of taking a risk for justice rather than remaining safe — it's a choice of how one faces the inevitable. That's very different. Preserving one's sense of self in the face of torture is certainly admirable, but not quite the same as sacrificing body/dignity/reputation for someone else's sake. Jamie's courage here exemplifies a certain type of masculinity — stoic, continent, dignified, proud, strong ("He didna scream, though, or beg for mercy, or twist round to try and save himself."). It strikes me as not very Christlike. That is, if Christ's torture and death is the perfect, willing sacrifice of the self, Jamie's attitude here is the stouthearted preservation of the self in the face of terrible suffering.

More Dougal on courage:

"Ye know, lass, it's fairly easy to be brave, sittin' in a warm tavern ower a glass of ale. 'Tis not so easy, squatting in a cold field, wi' musket balls going past your head and heather ticklin' your arse. And it's still less easy when you're standing face to face wi' your enemy, wi/ your own blood running down your legs."

Dougal apparently tried to bribe Black Jack Randall to spare Jamie the second flogging, but no dice.

Aaaaand more flogging. Yeesh, the first flogging description was bad enough, but the second is gruesome.

I feel like I have been reading an awful lot of flogging scenes lately. Here, I am reminded of the flogging scene early in The Astonishing Life of Octavian Nothing, Traitor to the Nation. Octavian and his mother are flogged after she refuses to become a nobleman's concubine. That's a very different scene genre-wise, told first person, and quietly devastating, rather than gory. Octavian Nothing is brutal in juxtaposing the classical/legal/scientific discourses of the 18th century with the human suffering in the "new creation" of the Roman/British empire. Octavian being flogged:

"They came behind me. I would not grimace; I would not flinch; indeed, I would show nothing — considering, as the Stoic Phrygian slave, crippled by his master's blows, hath writ: 'Beyond the last inner tunic of my frail body, no one has authority over me. If I love too much this pitiful flesh, I have sold myself as a slave, for I have shown through pain what can be used to master me.' So say I now, resolve standing tall in seclusion; but then, the rod cut; and, weakened by agony's chains, ambushed by astonishment, I could not forbear exclamations of torment."

That is a great book. Anyone who is interested in historical fiction should check out Octavian Nothing. Don't be scared off by the YA marketing (though I suppose anyone reading this is probably not much of a lit snob).

Back to Outlander:

"Jamie met Randall's eye straight on then, and said, 'No, but I'm afraid I'll freeze stiff before ye're done talking.'"

"Randall's face was—intent, I suppose ye'd say— and sort o'lighted up, like when a man is lookin' at a lass he's soft on, if ye know what I mean. 'Twas as though he were doin' somethin' much worse to Jamie than just skinning him alive."

I have not read very much of the online commentary about the TV show. But I have seen enough in passing to know that one of the livelier threads of discussion has been about Black Jack Randall's sexuality and the trope of the Depraved Homosexual. While Black Jack is an off-the-charts sadist who seems willing to rape Claire if he can, this description makes it clear that his interest in Jamie is much more intense. There may be many reasons for that, including the need to "break" a victim. Claire, for all her spunk, is practical enough to sacrifice honor in turn for getting out of bad situations alive, whereas Jamie is not. At least not here.

I know there are fans out there who argue that Black Jack is not, in fact, the poster boy for the Depraved Homosexual trope, using evidence that has not yet been introduced at this point in the novel. So I will remain open to those arguments. But as of what I know now, this reads as pretty close to the archetype of the evil gay villain. Yes, there may be mitigating factors in later chapters or books. But Black Jack's characterization here is one of the things that reminds me how old this book is. Twenty-five years ago, it was common for fiction aimed at a heterosexual audience to link queerness with evil in a casual way (it still is, though there are a lot more voices calling out the straightforward trope when it appears). I'm not throwing the book across the room or anything (in part because it is an audiobook that lives on my phone). But the Evil Queer Villain does not sit well with me. It's sort of like watching a Shirley Temple movie where she's friends with Bill "Bojangles" Robinson — the dancing is wonderful and they're the stars of their own film, but you can't just ignore the visual language and racist history of the minstrel show that they are reproducing. 

The characters of Jamie Whatshisname and Black Jack Randall thus encapsulated, Dougal finally tells Claire the Big News: that Black Jack has formally ordered Dougal to deliver Claire to Fort William for questioning. Which, given what we have recently heard and seen, portends hideous, extended torture.

This is followed by some convoluted discussion of Scottish law, the upshot being that Claire, as an Englishwoman, is subject to orders from Black Jack. If, however, she were to become a Scot, he could not compel the MacKenzies to give her up.

Which leads to Big News #2:

"Ye must marry a Scot. Young Jamie."

This may be the first time I have been sad that I saw the TV show first. Sad this was spoiled for me. I'm not 100% clear on the actual legality of this plan, but it is devilishly satisfying. See, she's not committing adultery! She haaaaaaaaaas to marry the super hot young guy she's been mooning over for ten chapters. After all, the choice is marry him and have tons of amazing sex or don't marry him and be slowly tortured to death by your husband's doppelganger. So it's not really her fault, you see. 

On the one hand, I am glad that Claire is safe. And going to get laid. On the other, the fact that her safety requires a near-complete removal of her agency is worrisome. Not just to me — she's not very happy about that herself. But I think there are two strands that need to be teased apart here. One is what is happening in the story and the other is the story that the author is choosing to tell. In the story, Claire is angry because Dougal is ordering her to marry Jamie and neither she nor Jamie seems to have much say in the matter. She's being forced and she (rightfully) hates it.

The other is the negation of Claire's agency by the author. Is there an explanation for this other than an effort to make the story more palatable to the reader? The reader is on Claire's side. If Claire were to just forget Frank and run off with Jamie (which she seems to want to do), that's a different sort of story. I'm all for Claire running away from the mid-twentieth-century hell of the educated faculty wife. Run, Claire, run! But Diana Gabaldon does not go that way. Instead, she concocts a far-fetched situation in which Claire gets to fuck Jamie without having a choice about it. And thus, she is not responsible for her actions. I'd rather see her make that choice on her own.

Of note: Dougal believes Claire that she isn't a spy because the water in the saint's pool will kill anyone who drinks it and then tells a lie. Ok then.

Claire protests that she won't marry anyone, but this is about as effective as her escape attempts up to this point. She yells. Dougal ignores her. She seethes with impotent rage.

"But . . . but I can't marry anyone!" I burst out.

Dougal's eyes were suddenly sharp. "Why not, lass? Do ye have a husband living still?"

"No. It's just . . . it's ridiculous! Such things don't happen!"

"Dougal had relaxed when I said "No."

Come to think of it, runaway bride is actually a fairly plausible explanation for Claire's presence in Scotland. Much more convincing than "I'm traveling from Oxford to France by way of Inverness."

Viewed in cold blood, the idea had some merit from my side as well.

Sure. Very useful guy, that Jamie.

I'm a little disappointed that Claire's fury/indignation/panic doesn't hit harder here. I think it would be much more effective if her inner monologue had remembered that Frank existed for the past 100 pages. Not that she is just thinking about Frank — obviously she would not want to be forced into marriage against her will even if she were single. But Claire does not seem desperate to get back to 1945. I don't blame her — there is some Revolutionary Road bullshit waiting for her back on the other end. The question for me is, is she angry because she really does want to get back to Frank? Or is she angry because she is fed up with Dougal's attitude toward consent (i.e. he couldn't care less)?

Dougal comes into Claire's room with Ned and Rupert, bringing the marriage contract for her to sign. New word for me: "equerry," a senior attendant, often responsible for a high-ranking person's horses.

Claire makes her objections plain, then pivots, pointing out that Jamie has not consented to the marriage either. Dougal, good early-modern patriarch that he is, is not concerned:

"Jamie's a soldier; he'll do as he's told. So will you." 

Despite Dougal's attitude toward consent of any sort, he humors Claire by calling Jamie in for a chat. He seems to have accepted his orders with equanimity, appearing neither pleased nor angry. He even explains why he is not a great catch for an 18th-century girl (and, as importantly, an 18th-century father), namely, he is a penniless outlaw.

I flapped my hand, dismissing the matter of outlawry as a minor consideration, compared to the whole monstrous idea.

Well, at least the culture clash is mutual.

And then, of course, this:

"Does it bother you that I'm not a virgin?"

He hesitated a moment before answering.

"Well, no," he said slowly, "so long as it doesna bother you that I am."

He grinned at my drop-jawed expression, and backed toward the door.

"Reckon one of us should know what they're doing," he said.

Plausible? Maybe. Entertaining? The joke relies on our sexist assumption that a powerful man is sexual experienced/insatiable. But I'm excited enough to see Claire in the role of sexual educator that I am not too fussed.

Claire responds to all of this by getting completely shitfaced. When fight and flight both fail, what else is left?

Body Count:

Jamie: 3 + assorted redcoats

Chapter 12: The Garrison Commander

In this chapter, more rape threats! Also beatings!

Alas, there are a few more chapters to slog through before any bodices get ripped.

The MacKenzie party is approaching Fort William and Claire is still trying to figure out some things. For instance:

What was I meant to be spying on? Well, unpatriotic activities, I supposed; of which, collecting money for the support of Prince Charles Edward Stuart, pretender to the throne, was definitely one. But, in that case, why had Dougal allowed me to see him do it?

That's what I said.

They stop at an inn, where Claire is given a private room. Gregarious creature that she is, she finds herself missing the company of all the hairy, sweating, snoring men:

It was the first time I had been left alone so completely alone since my arrival at the castle, and I was not at all sure I liked it.

Not alone for long, though.

There was a soft scratching at the door, as of someone groping for the latch . . . The door squeaked slightly on its hinges as it gave . . . I could just make out the dim outline of the door as it opened. The outline grew, then to my surprise, it shrank and disappeared as the door shut again.

Yikes. Do not like.

Claire goes out into the hall to investigate and trips over Jamie, who is lying on the floor outside of her room. So he was the one who opened the door? Not cool, Jamie. What the hell were you thinking?

"Ye nearly crushed my liver," he answered, gingerly prodding the affected area. "Not to mention scaring living hell out of me."

Sorry, no. Opening her door is incredibly creepy and you would have no reason to complain even if she had brained you.

"Serves you right," I said nastily. "What were you doing, sneaking about outside my door?"

Good for you, Claire. Do not stand for that bullshit.

Jamie explains that he was sleeping outside her door to guard against drunken would-be rapists. Which is fine, as far as it goes. Still does not excuse the door-opening.

"You can't sleep out here," I said. "Come in; at least the floor in the room isn't quite this bad."

Jamie froze, hand on the doorframe.

"Sleep in your room with ye?" He sounded truly shocked. "I couldna do that! Your reputation would be ruined!"

Never have the cultural differences between our plucky heroine and her barbarian warrior-poet been so adorable.

Claire is both amused and bemused by the contours of 18th-century sexual ethics. Everyone lives higgledy-piggledy with no privacy to speak of, but even the suggestion of an unmarried woman being alone with a man is enough to shock Jamie. Claire, who, we are led to believe, fucked her way across the globe as a teenager, finds this all terribly funny. Note: Starz, I would watch that prequel/spinoff.

In the morning, Claire and Dougal ride off on a side mission. They travel to an inn, where Dougal brings Claire before . . . Captain Jonathan Randall of His Majesty's Eighth Dragoons. Dun dun dun.

But the face was the same — Frank's face.

Frank who? According to the search function on my Kindle edition, we are currently on page 151 and Frank was last mentioned by name on page 63.

My breath caught in my throat. This time, though, I noticed the small lines of ruthlessness around his mouth, and the touch of arrogance in the set of his shoulders. Still, he smiled affably enough, and invited me to sit down.

I refer you to the TV Tropes page on Wicked Cultured.

Dougal leaves Claire alone with Black Jack. Thanks for that, Dougal. Especially after we've just been reminded of all the connotations attached to unchaperoned privacy in this time and place. Claire manages to unsettle Black Jack a bit by knowing non-obvious things about him, such as the fact that he is from Sussex. But he is not deterred. He questions her and clearly does not buy any of her story (as well he shouldn't). Get a better story, Claire.

Side note: One of Randall's men is asked to recite a short verse here so that Randall can quiz Claire on his accent. His poem of choice is, of course, super rape-y.

"What I don't know is who the devil you are! But I mean to find out, Madam, have no doubts as to that. I am the commander of this garrison. As such, I am empowered to take certain steps in order to secure the safety of this area against traitors, spies, and any other persons whose behavior I consider suspicious. And those steps, Madam, I am fully prepared to take."

Then he has his lackey hold her still while he punches Claire in the gut. Thanks again, Dougal, for arranging this meeting.

In a fairly eventful life, no one had ever purposefully struck me before.

I imagine that keeping a count of "people who have hit Claire on purpose" as these books progress will not bring me any joy.

This is notably gross:

"I trust you are not with child, Madam," he said in a conversational tone, "because if you are, you won't be for long."

Yeesh.

"Have you anything to say to me now, Madam?" he demanded.

"Your wig is crooked," I said, and closed my eyes again.

Bless you, Claire. You're going to die, but you'll go out with a barb.

Body Count:

Jamie: 3 + assorted redcoats

Chapter 11: Conversations With a Lawyer

In this chapter, Claire leaves Castle Leoch and hits the road with Dougal's merry band of tax collectors slash incipient Jacobites.

The thought that I would never again see that grim pile of stone or its inhabitants gave me an odd feeling of regret.

I find myself needing to explain Claire's attitude toward Castle Leoch and her escape therefrom. We've been talking about her ambivalence about leaving for several chapters now, long enough that it's not a blip. This is a big part of her character. On one hand, you could read it as indifference toward her old life. It has been a very, very long time since she mentioned Frank. She certainly does not seem to be pining — her desire to get home is sort of vague, not desperate or focused.

But you could also read it as a strong inclination toward living in the moment. This is a character who has lived rootlessly all her life, never having a home for her vase and all that. She doesn't seem to be overly attached to possessions or places, and is capable of making a life for herself wherever she happens to be. I'm not sure if this is part of her natural temperament or if it's a characteristic honed by long practice during a nomadic childhood and the dislocation of World War II. Perhaps both. I have a friend who travels the world with only a camera and whatever he can fit in his backpack, picking up fantastical jobs like tracking snow leopards in Afghanistan or accompanying volunteer doctors to remote villages in Tibet. Claire Beauchamp reminds me of him — unusually independent, gregarious, able to get along wherever she is and with whomever she encounters. She might survive the next fifty years serving tea and dusting knicknacks in an Oxford parlor, but she'd rather be staunching wounds in a perpetual state of emergency. 

On the road, Claire gets to talking with Ned Gowan, the chapter's titular lawyer. He explains the process of gathering Colum MacKenzie's rent, which will be paid in small coins, bags of grain, and livestock. Their party of 20ish will roam the countryside, sleeping rough and transacting the laird's business.

We get to know a bit about Ned, who was once a lawyer:

"As a young man, I had a small practice in Edinburgh. with lace curtains in the window, and a shiny brass plate by the door, with my name inscribed upon it. But I grew rather tired of making wills and drawing up conveyances, and seeing the same faces in the street, day after day. So I left," he said simply.

This is an account of the future that awaits Claire in 1945. Comfortable, respectable, and crushingly boring. Could Claire ever really be happy collecting botanical specimens with theoretical medicinal uses, but never treating patients? If she were trapped behind her own lace curtains, would she just get up one day and walk away, as Ned did?

We also learn a bit about Jacob MacKenzie, Jamie's grandfather. Ned describes him as "a wicked, red auld rascal" who robbed Ned at gunpoint and kept him on for legal advice. There is some suggestion that Jacob only became laird because of some machinations on Ned's part. Ned also helped smooth over the problems of Colum's succession by engineering Colum and Dougal's joint command.

It's also probably important to note the bit said in passing about "all the fuss about his sister's marriage." This is presumably the marriage of Jamie's parents. Ned says that "Dougal did not acquit himself so verra weel over that affair," so I imagine we'll hear more later.

"Ye should really be armed yourself, m'dear," he said in a tone of mild reproof.

Thank you, Ned. Everybody else is armed to the teeth — Claire really does need a knife at the very least.

We passed the rest of the day in pleasant conversation, wandering among his reminisces of the dear departed days when men were men, and the pernicious weed of civilization was less rampant upon the bonny wild face of the Highlands.

It's good to see some self-awareness from the author.

The party wanders around for a few days, collecting rents. Claire seems content enough, spending her time chatting with Ned and wondering why Dougal brought Jamie along.

It was a week after we had set out, in a village with an unpronounceable name, that I found out the real reason why Dougal had wanted Jamie.

Answer: To show off his scarred back as an exhibition of English cruelty, calculated to stir up support for the Stuart uprising. If I recall correctly, Frank and Rev. Wakefield believed that Black Jack Randall was supposed to be stirring up Jacobite sentiments in the Highlands. Was his flogging of Jamie part of a detailed plot? Or just coincidence?

In any case, Jamie seems not to have been in on Dougal's plan. When Dougal rips his shirt off, Jamie is "taken completely by surprise" and leaves in a huff.

The performance is effective. Ned and Dougal collect a few coins for Bonnie Prince Charlie. Claire can't quite control her Englishness, defining Jacobites as "supporters of the Young Pretender against the lawful occupant of the throne of England, George II."

By an absurd coincidence, I am typing this at my kitchen table while my preschooler is upstairs singing "Will ye no come back again?" at the top of her lungs. We are not Scottish. I have never been to Scotland and have no particular interest in Scottish history or politics. However, both my father and father-in-law are folk musicians. They sing to the kids and my daughter's favorite songs are the "Charlie songs." We spent some time with the family recently and, as a consequence, she's sounded like a tiny Jacobite for several weeks. My son, on the other hand, has taught all his little toddler friends to sing "Wild Rover." Luckily, toddlers teaching lyrics to other toddlers is a terrible game of telephone and none of the other parents at daycare have realized that their babies are singing, "I spent all my money on whisky and beer." It could be worse — my youngest brother was very attached to "Whisky in the Jar" when he was a preschooler, and my sister was quite bloodthirsty, preferring "O'Donnell Abu." My brother-in-law loved "Barrett's Privateers" and would just yell "God damn them all!" whenever he felt the urge. I had a good head for lyrics and liked to show off by always taking songs five verses further than they needed to go. This skill is not widely useful, but has served me surprisingly well at various points in my life. I once got a date in high school after demonstrating my ability to sing "Rocky Road to Dublin" with both speed and accuracy (the boy was a Dropkick Murphys fan), and I remember teaching Spouse some lesser-known verses to "Star of the County Down" and "Roddy McCorley" back when we were first dating. All this has very little to do with Outlander, but it seemed important to note that I have an evocative (if somewhat ridiculous) soundtrack for writing this recap (she's on to "Johnny Cope" now).

Question: If Dougal thinks Claire is a spy, why is he letting her sit in on his little fundraiser? She may not speak Gaelic, but, as she says,

"I've the sense I was born with, and two ears in good working order. And whatever 'King George's health' may be in Gaelic, I doubt very much that it sounds like 'Bragh Stuart.'"

As they wander about, Claire has some time to reflect on the mystery of time travel. In particular, she wonders whether the circles of standing stones were erected to mark places where strange and magical things happened. If so, that might mean that Craigh na Dun is just one of many "gates" through time. That can't be all there is to it — maybe only certain people can travel? At certain times? It was Beltane when Claire traveled, so that makes sense. And can one travel to the future? Probably, if the legends of people returning are true. But can you travel further forward than your own life? That is, it might be possible to travel backward in time and forward to your own time, but is it possible to go forward initially? And how many travelers are there, hiding among us at any given time? I can only imagine that there will be answers to some of these questions in future books.

In the midst of her musings, Claire overhears a fight between Jamie and Dougal over the matter of using Jamie as Exhibit A to raise money for the Stuart cause. Jamie objects, Dougal sneers. They kindly decide to hold this conversation in English so that both Claire and the reader can understand them.

Question: Has this book been published in Gaelic? That would change the dynamic, I imagine.

Claire goes out to talk with Jamie, who is very upset.

"Hit something," I advised. "You'll feel better for it."

This seems unlikely. Like the 20-something soldier who can't go five pages without being shot/stabbed/whipped/punched never thought of hitting anything out of frustration before this random lady suggested it? Also, punching a tree must hurt. I have, on occasion, after a particularly stressful bedtime whine-a-thon, gone into my backyard and beaten hell out of a tree with bamboo canes, but never my own fists. The bamboo canes shatter in a very satisfying manner.

After Jamie's tree-punching, we learn that he is left-handed. I did not pay enough attention in the show to notice whether Sam Heughan portrays this accurately, but after Maisie Williams learned to fight left-handed like Arya, I expect nothing left from my premium cable actors. We also get, "I use a sword well enough in either hand," which I can only hope is setting us up for a Princess Bride reference at some later point.

Jamie explains some of the basics of fighting with bladed weapons to Claire, who probably will not be fighting with a broadsword anytime soon.

The seam of his shirt had been mended neatly, I saw, if without artistry. Even a rip through the fabric had been catch-stitched together.

I wish the show had found a way to draw our attention to Jamie's sewing skills.

Claire knows that Dougal will rip the shirt again, though, and so does Jamie.

"And you'll let him do it? Let him use you that way?"

I'm not going to pretend that this early-1990s romance novel is a great work in the field of gender studies. But an exploration of consent is clearly a major theme and I am interested in the amount of attention paid to violations of Jamie's person and privacy. There's plenty of rape in this book without needing Jamie's scars to serve as an analogy, but doing so allows Gabaldon to ponder the continuing trauma of victims who have their assaults dragged out in a public forum, be it a court or a tavern. When some asshole bystander says, "Christ, I'd die in my blood before I let a whey-faced Sassenach to use me so," I think of people I know who have decided not to report sexual assaults because they don't want the casual judgment of cruel spectators. It's good to see a fantasy novel address the long tail of trauma.

It is not surprising that Jamie eventually hits someone during one of Dougal's speeches. He didn't even need Claire to tell him to do it. No deaths, though, so the body count remains steady.

"You're black and blue - again. Why do you do such things? What in God's name do you think you're made of? Iron?"

Make up your mind, Claire. Five minutes ago you were telling him that hitting something would make him feel better.

As usual, Jamie likes to chat about his family while Claire fixes up his scrapes. This time, it's his father.

Things we learn about Jamie's father:

1. he is dead
2. he was a farmer
3. he bred horses
4. he taught Jamie to fight at age 9-10

"He said, 'If you're sizeable, half the men ye meet will fear ye, and the other half will want to try ye. Knock one down,' he said, 'and the rest will let ye be. But learn to do it fast and clean, or you'll be fightin' all your life.' So he's take me to the barn an knock me into the straw until I learned to hit back."

In a better world, this would be setting up a fight between Jamie and Brienne of Tarth, who heard the opposite advice from Ser Goodwin.

He suddenly seemed very young, and I wondered just how old he was. I was about to ask when a raspy cough from behind announced a visitor to the shed.

Claire's doing some quick half-plus-seven math here.

Murtagh was one of those men who always looked a bit startled to find that women had voices, but he nodded politely enough.

I do like her, though. Silliness aside, I will keep on reading a book written from this perspective.

The chapter ends with a note of mystery as Jamie and Murtagh plan some sort of secret rendezvous, perhaps involving Horrocks. Having been spoiled by the show, I am not all that interested. If the show chronology matches the book (and it has been remarkably faithful so far), we are getting near to the sexy bits of this novel and I am tempted to just skip ahead.

Body Count:

Jamie: 3 + assorted redcoats

Chapter 10: The Oath-Taking

In this chapter, Claire makes some more half-assed attempts to escape.

Tonight was the night.

Everyone at Castle Leoch will be attending the oath-taking ceremony, giving Claire a chance to escape. She sneaks out of the castle, intending to take a horse and run for it.

Her plan is foiled when she trips over Jamie, who had been hiding in the stables. He laughs at Claire and tells her that there are lots of guards on duty, so she might as well give up now. I am mildly surprised to find that she obliges immediately. Again, she doesn't really seem to be trying all that hard to escape. They bicker a little bit, but she gives up on her escape in half a heartbeat.

Jamie escorts Claire back to the castle in order to keep her from being raped by the guards (I've given up on trying to count rape threats). They don't quite make it — the guards catch them, molest Claire, and drag Jamie off to the oath-taking ceremony he had been avoiding.

Rupert surveyed Jamie critically, with an eye to the oatstraws in his hair and the stains on his shirt. I saw his glance flicker to the oatstraws in my own hair, and a cynical grin split his face.

No one bothers to correct this impression.

Jamie's eye lighted on me, his expression still grim. This was my doing, his face seemed to say.

I mean, not really. Claire doesn't want to be there, was trying to leave, insisted that you stay in the stable, and has absolutely nothing to do with Clan MacKenzie politics, so it's hard to see how your current predicament is her fault. Though, of course, Jamie didn't actually say that it was — this is just Claire's interpretation of his expression.

He could, of course, announce that he did not mean to swear his oath to Colum, and head back to his warm bed in the stables. If he wanted a serious beating or his throat cut, that is.

So Jamie submits and cleans himself up for the ceremony. He accepts a MacKenzie tartan kilt, but takes off the Clan badge, telling Claire that his own Clan motto is "Je suis prest" (I am ready.). Presumably, Claire could find some way to lead a casual acquaintance into a discussion of Clan mottos if she really wanted to find out more about Jamie's background. But no.

Claire goes to observe the oath-taking, which is all very festive. Everyone is decked out, including Colum and Dougal. Dougal is the first man to take his oath, swearing his loyalty to Colum and sealing it with a drink.

I learned a new word here — quaich, a shallow, two-handled drinking bowl — and got somewhat off track in writing this recap as I spent an hour falling down various wikiholes as I attempted to determine the relationship between a quaich and a caudle cup (which is a deeper two-handled vessel used to drink caudle, a revolting-sounding drink/gruel involving eggs, wine, spices, and bread). I'm quite familiar with the latter (common in early American decorative arts), but did not come to a satisfying answer as to any relationship between the forms. 

John Coney Caudle Cup, c. 1690, Museum of Fine Arts, Boston

Colum and Dougal are much less interested in early modern silver holloware than I am, preoccupied as they are with Jamie's unexpected appearance. Claire's nervous, too, fearing that the MacKenzies will murder Jamie right there in the hall if he refuses to swear his fealty to Colum.

However, Jamie neatly sidesteps the difficulty by reminding everyone that his loyalty is already pledged to his own clan, but swearing that he will serve and obey Colum as long as he remains on MacKenzie land. Colum finds this acceptable.

There was a lessening of the tension over the hall, and almost an audible sigh of relief in the gallery as Colum drank from the quaich and offered it to Jamie.

So, I guess, no problem then? I remember reading once that if a problem can be solved by two characters just talking things out in a reasonable way, it was never really a problem at all. And this seems . . . weak. In fact, it reminds me of the end of Brave, not because it's set in Scotland, but because there was a lot of bluster about traditions that turned out to be completely irrelevant as soon as the characters decided not to make a big deal out of it. Which is one of the reasons nobody liked that movie. This seems similar. Like, if this can be solved by people just standing down, was it ever really a problem in the first place? 

Jamie chugs the whole bowl of ceremonial whisky (rude?), impressing everyone with his "knack for good theater." The ceremony devolves into general revelry and Mrs. Fitz tells the women to get out of sight so they don't get raped by drunken MacKenzies. Like I said, I can't even count anymore.

Claire tries to find her way back to her room, but, well . . .

I found myself pressed against the wall of the corridor, surrounded by bearded Highlanders with whisky on their breath and rape on their minds.

Dougal comes to the rescue, sort of:

"Ye shouldna be here. Since ye are, weel, you'll have to pay the penalty for that," he murmured, eyes gleaming in the half-dark. And without warning, he pulled me hard against him and kissed me.

Thus dies the dream of #TeamDougal. Also, Claire, why don't you have a knife yet? Surely there's something sharp in Davie Beaton's room that you could carry around with you. I mean, you probably can't murder Dougal MacKenzie in a hallway, but you can't go 10 steps without some asshole assaulting you. Go armed.

The next day, a large group of hunters goes out after boar. Claire is summoned to fix up their various wounds.

"Bloody Christ!" I said, examining a gaping, jagged wound that ran from knee to ankle.

I cannot tell a lie: I am a wimp and watched this part of the TV show through my fingers.

The boar goes tearing past Claire, but doesn't hurt her. Dougal comes to the rescue again, this time reserving his assaulting energies for the boar.

Dougal leapt aside like a bullfighter, jabbing at it with his spear. Back and forth, and again. It was less a rampage than a dance, both adversaries rooted in strength, but so nimble they seemed to float above the ground.

A man named Geordie has been mortally injured in the hunt. Dougal surprises Claire with his tenderness toward the wounded man:

Dougal the fierce, Dougal the ruthless, was speaking to the man in a low voice, repeating words of comfort, hugging the man hard against him, stroking the tumbled hair.

Again, I was watching most of this through my fingers, but I can report that this was the only scene in the TV show that moved Spouse to tears.

After confirming with Claire that Geordie's injuries are not survivable, Dougal removes the man's tourniquet, hastening his death. Both Claire and Dougal comfort the dying man. This leads Dougal to a realization:

"You've seen men die before,' he said flatly. "By violence." Not a question, almost an accusation.

"Many of them," I said, just as flatly. 

In fact, I imagine Claire has assisted at many more deathbeds than Dougal has. He's probably seen more of his close friends die, but there was nothing like D-Day or the Blitz in 18th-century Scotland. In general, I accept Steven Pinker's arguments about the present being substantially less violent than the past (with some quibbles), but a lot of that argument is based on percentages, rather than raw numbers. Given her post in WWII France, my money is on Claire having held a lot more dying hands than Dougal. 

Back at the castle, Claire patches up the less grievous injuries associated with the Gathering.

All I could say of authentic Highland games is that they were played for keeps.

I've been to some modern American Highland games, which are good fun, but not particularly serious. They seemed to be mostly drinking and listening to folk musicians who ranged widely in talent. No one in my family has a drop of Scottish blood, but Spouse is a redhead of the gold-and-flaming-carrots variety, so we fit right in.

Claire is still thinking about escaping, but, again, without much urgency. Skulking around the stables, she stumbles on Jamie and Dougal. Dougal surprises her by announcing that both she and Jamie will be part of a traveling party that will assist him in collecting rents from the many MacKenzies who could not attend the Gathering. Claire does not quite trust him (for good reason), but is willing to take luck where she can find it.

Outwardly tranquil, inwardly I was rejoicing.

Without the difficulty of sneaking out of the castle, Claire believes it will be easier for her to escape and make her way back to Craigh na Dun. Of course, being away from the castle means she won't be protected from the redcoats and Black Jack Randall, but she's not worried about that.

And with luck, back home.

Speculation time: How does this all work? Would touching the stones send Claire back to her own time? Or just throw her back another 200 years? Does each individual travel in her own personal continuity? Since I have seen the TV show, I know that Geillis is also a time traveler, but not from Claire's time, which seems to indicate that the stones don't just toss you back a set number of years. Geillis left long after Claire and came to a time before 1743, so it's not just a set corridor spanning 202 years (adjusted for all the shenanigans associated with the Julian/Gregorian calendar change and the Calendar Act adjustments in 1752). Can some travelers steer? Can a traveler choose whether to go forward or backward? And could someone use the stones to leap forward initially, rather than back? I assume we will get some answers to all this eventually.

Body Count:

Jamie: 3 + assorted redcoats

Chapter 9: The Gathering

In this chapter, we contemplate the wisdom of speaking vs. staying silent.

My life seemed to be assuming some shape, if not yet a formal routine.

Claire is settling into life at the castle. She has her medical work and she helps out in the kitchens, where the other women have begun to warm up to her. All told, she seems fairly content in the early passages of this chapter, which is slightly surprising. I had expected her to be a bit more anxious to escape after hearing the tales of travelers in the last chapter.

Not that Claire has forgotten about escape entirely. Everyone at Castle Leoch is preparing for the Gathering, when the men of Clan MacKenzie will come to swear fealty to Colum. We learn that the last Gathering was 20 years ago, when Jacob MacKenzie died and Colum was named laird. I'm not sure what has prompted this particular Gathering, though. It doesn't seem to be a regular thing (20 years is a long time), nor necessarily tied to a particular occasion (there's no transfer of power this time).

Among the confusion and disturbance of the Gathering, I thought, I should have no difficulty in finding my chance to escape.

This statement is tacked onto the end of about four pages of Claire talking about how much more comfortable she is at the Castle now. People are friendly. The work is fulfilling and there is music in the evenings. She loves spending days in the orchards picking fruit for the pantry. I'm finding it more than a little odd that she doesn't really seem to think much about Frank or the 20th century. I was expecting a few more comments on her discomfort or her longing for Frank. The beginning of this chapter is pretty cozy, so her mention of running away comes almost as a surprise at the end of this section. There isn't much here to make it seem like a matter of urgency.

Here we have the introduction of Geillis Duncan, a woman whose first line is, "Those kind are poison." Claire describes her as "a tall young woman, perhaps a few years older than myself, fair of hair and skin, with the loveliest green eyes I had ever seen."

Over the course of a single page, Geillis reveals:

1.  she is the local abortion provider
2.  she is a suspected witch
3.  she is protected by her husband's position as "procurator fiscal," which seems to be something like a district attorney
4. she has a suspiciously detailed knowledge of who buys love charms for whom
5.  she married her husband for money and influence, but doesn't fuck him

And at some later point, she finally gets around to introducing herself by name. That seems like a LOT of sharing right out of the gate.

Despite the occasional teasing, I found her a pleasant companion, with a ready wit and a cheerful, if cynical, outlook on life.

Good. Things have been awfully earnest around here since we got rid of Frank.

"They say young Hamish is not his father's son."

Look, Geillis, as a reader, I appreciate your willingness to cut to the chase and discuss the most sensitive subjects with someone you have known for barely a minute. But too much sharing will (hopefully!) make other characters less likely to trust you with their own secrets. You don't create intimacy by just laying down everything you know right away — it makes you seem like you have bad judgment. Though, come to think of it, Jamie's first extended conversation with Claire covered topics including his sister being raped and his multiple floggings, so maybe we're just in a universe where premature oversharing is ok. 

"The fair Letitia does not need any help in such matters, believe me. If people are seeking a witch in this neighborhood, they'd do better to look in the castle than in the village."

Do tell! 

Among this verbal incontinence, Geillis drops a bomb that I don't think was included in the TV show: people believe that Hamish is Jamie's son. Which could be true, I guess. Letitia could have slept with 16-year-old Jamie, which would go some way toward explaining why Colum and Dougal are so squirrelly around him. But I sort of would expect them to kill him if it were true? I don't know. Not convinced.

The next day, Dougal invites Claire along on an errand to the village so she can visit Geillis. This is much too nice of him and I am immediately suspicious.

Dougal himself was in high spirits, and chatted and joked pleasantly as we went along.

I know I have declared myself to be #TeamDougal (or, at least, #TeamGrahamMcTavish), but this sounds way too chipper. Maybe I'm overly influenced by ShowDougal's scowling. Be careful, Claire.

When they arrive, Geillis makes an excuse for a private word with Dougal, which does not sound at all suspicious. Claire is impressed with Geillis's workroom, which is as bright, clean, and organized as Davie Beaton's was dark, filthy, and jumbled.

It was some time before Geilie appeared, flushed from climbing the stairs . . .

I'll bet.

Geillis entertains Claire with more juicy gossip until they are interrupted by a gathering mob. A boy has been accused of stealing and Claire, aghast at the idea that he might lose a hand for the offense, asks Geillis to intervene on his behalf.

There is a paragraph here where Claire reflects on the problem of the bystander. Likening her current situation to the position of Germans who witnessed Nazi atrocities during WWII, Claire understands how hard it is for one person to stand up to a crowd, even if the crowd is bent on harming an innocent:

To stand against a crowd would take something more than ordinary courage; something that went beyond human instinct. And I feared I did not have it, and fearing, was ashamed."

This is a nice, honest moment. It recognizes that overt activism is astonishingly brave, while, at the same time, acknowledging that practical mercy might take the form of tending to a powerful man's indigestion. We'll have to see which characters stand up to mobs and which take more practical paths.

Geillis's intervention earns the miscreant a lighter sentence: he gets his ear nailed to the pillory and has to stay there for an hour. Humiliating and painful, but not permanently disfiguring.

Claire hangs out with Geillis for the rest of the afternoon until Jamie shows up to collect her. Why? Where is Dougal?

"I'd business in the village."

Bullshit. Is he arranging little scenarios so that he can meet Claire "accidentally"? Or is this just lazy writing?

Geillis gives Jamie and Claire a box and a note with instructions to deliver it to Dougal, so who knows what that's all about. Wasn't Dougal just there a few hours ago? Why couldn't he take it himself?

Claire spends a few minutes ogling Jamie's "broad back and muscular forearms" before initiating this exchange:

"'You're, er, quite sizable, aren't you'? I said. A half-smile curved his lips and he nodded, clearly wondering what I was up to.

'Big enough for most things,' he answered."

Claire and Jamie conspire to free the young thief from the pillory. Claire causes a diversion by pretending to faint while Jamie rips the nail out of the boy's ear. Put a tally mark in the "practical courage" column, I guess.

Again, I am forced to wonder whether Jamie is agreeing to all of this out of sympathy for the innocent (Laoghaire, this kid), or because he has noticed that these sorts of escapades offer opportunities for him to touch Claire. He not only helps her up when she "faints," but makes an exit by "lifting [her] bodily off the couch and heading for the door." They also decide to ride double back to Castle Leoch, leading Claire's horse behind them. So.

"Ye wouldna expect me to be less bold than a wee Sassenach lassie, now would ye?"

I approve of this. At least we have some indication of why Jamie might actually like Claire, barring the obvious that she is pretty and useful for tending his various wounds. It's heartening to hear him find her worthwhile in a way that does not serve him.

Body Count:

Jamie: 3 + (assorted redcoats)

Chapter 8: An Evening's Entertainment

In this chapter, Claire and Jamie's first sexual encounter is miraculously averted, by what power I cannot tell.

To take responsibility for the welfare of others made me feel less victimized by the whims of whatever impossible fate had brought me here.

Now that Claire has work to do, she is feeling much better. She's finally got her head on straight and is prepared to use it. Until she starts drinking, at least.

Her first subject: Colum MacKenzie. Claire diagnoses him with Toulouse-Lautrec syndrome, but notes that his physical infirmity does not diminish his iron rule over the clan. There are some difficulties; chief among them the fact that Colum may not be Hamish's biological father. So here is yet another child in this story who is claimed by a non-biological parent. In this case, at least so far, it seems that social bonds trump biology. We'll list Colum alongside Claire and the Rev. Wakefield on that question, in opposition to Frank.

There will be singing in the hall! 

Over wine, Colum tries to disguise some further interrogation as pleasant conversation. He asks Claire more about her French connections and she does the best she can.

I was mildly startled to realize that at this point, my relatives were in fact near Compiegne. Stick to the truth indeed.

I wonder whether we will meet any of them in Book 2. Also, I wonder whether this is anywhere near where she was stationed during the war. It probably wouldn't hurt to have some first-hand knowledge of the places she is mentioning.

Frankly, Claire's cover story is so bad that it almost proves her innocence. Surely a spy would have a better story than this. If you'd only shown a bit more interest in your own genealogy, Claire, at least you'd have some names to fall back on.

Claire gets away from Colum and finds a seat near Laoghaire, who seems to have the personality of a stump. Jamie joins them at Claire's (slightly drunken) invitation. They chat in between songs and we learn that Jamie spent some time at Leoch as a teenager.

"I remember when you were here, before." It was Laoghaire, still blushing pinkly, but determined to join the conversation.

Poor kid. I'm cringing.

"A young burke of sixteen's too taken up wi' his own grand self to pay much heed to what he thinks are naught but a rabble of snot-nosed bairns."

Way harsh, Jamie.

This whole scene is excruciating. I know we're all on Claire's side here, but my heart is with Laoghaire. She is getting quite the brush-off.

Jamie sat forward a bit in anticipation, then realizing that he blocked my view, insisted that I sit on the other side of him, displacing Laoghaire down the bench.

I'm having some very unsettling flashbacks to high school right now. Goddammit, Alana, it is very, very important that I be second chair clarinet, not third! And you don't even care anyway! Switch with me or endure my eye-daggers for the rest of the semester.

Gwyllyn the Bard sings and tells stories, including the story of the wife of Balnain, who seems to have traveled through some fairy stones "with her child in her arms." What might this tell us about the mechanics of time travel? Can you bring other people with you? Can you bring whatever you are holding?

Two hundred years. From 1945 to 1743; yes, near enough. And women who traveled through the rocks. Was it always women? I wondered suddenly.

Well, Gwyllyn just said that it was a woman and her baby son, so clearly not. Though, I guess maybe women are the primary travelers and can possibly bring people with them?

Something else occurred to me. The women came back. Holy water, spell, or knife, they came back. So perhaps, just perhaps, it was possible.

Good. It seemed like Claire was losing focus on her escape plans for a while there, so I'm glad that her attention has been redirected. Temporarily.

Jamie notices that Claire is a bit tipsy on Colum's extra-strong wine, and delivers the knock-out punch to Laoghaire:

He tilted the glass and deliberately drained it himself, then handed the empty goblet to Laoghaire without looking at her.

Applause all around to the TV actors in this scene, who made this move both as funny and as devastating as it is here.

Jamie escorts a tipsy Claire back to her room, and I am honestly surprised that they don't just fall into bed together here, with all the partial nudity and spanking talk.

Involuntarily, I reached out, as though I might heal him with a touch and erase the marks with my fingers. He sighed deeply, but didn't move as I traced the deep scars, one by one, as though to show him the extent of the damage he couldn't see. I rested my hands at last lightly on his shoulders in silence, groping for words.

Groping is right. Apparently, Claire's inhibitions are vulnerable to both alcohol and the sight of someone in pain. Despite this, they manage to avoid having sex. I'm not really sure how, though doubtless there is something about Jamie's sense of honor, blah blah blah. Claire certainly was not thinking about Frank in that moment.

The next day, Claire finds Jamie and Laoghaire making out in a deserted corner of the castle. Claire tells herself that this is "not my business," but can't help needling Jamie about it at supper. Old Alec rolls his eye at this adolescent bullshit and basically tells Claire that she's not fooling anybody with her supposed indifference to Jamie. Since Claire is the one telling this story (again, the question of her audience is not quite clear), we read that she is "contemplating what, if anything, the old horsemaster had meant by his final remark." This is as good an indication as any that Claire is a biased narrator, and her self-justifications are not meant to be taken as fact.

Body Count:

Jamie: 3 + (assorted redcoats)

Chapter 7: Davie Beaton's Closet

In this chapter, we are all thankful for modern medicine (not for the last time, I imagine).

Claire is called to another audience with Colum. He notes her skill as a healer and asks her to look over the supplies left behind by their late healer-in-residence, Davie Beaton.

I saw the thickened skin around the nail and wondered at it; it hardly seemed likely that he did much manual labor.

What's all this about?

Claire and Colum make their way down to Davie Beaton's lair, and I am reminded again that I am disappointed that Claire's scene with Frank in this location is not Book Canon. It remains part of my personal canon.

Claire wanders around a bit, looking at all of the medical supplies. These are mostly disgusting or useless. I'm not sure whether Colum's implication that one of Davie Beaton's patients died because of a thumb injury is actually true or just meant to reinforce to Claire the ineffectiveness of 18th-century medicine.

If nothing else, the room allows Claire some privacy in which to contemplate her predicament. She muses on her passage through the stones, comparing it to bombing raids she lived through during WWII. She remembers the passage as a struggle, away from some "incomplete thoughts" and toward others:

Had I actually chosen to come to this particular time because it offered some sort of haven from that whirling maelstrom?

It's not clear to me why Claire would have chosen to come to the 18th century, but the question of volition is intriguing. Can someone travel through the stones deliberately? And can travelers steer toward a particular moment?

Later, Claire brings Jamie another picnic and they continue their conversation about his personal history. He reveals that he has a price on his head . . . for murder.

"Well, it's a bit off. I didna actually kill the man whose murder I'm outlawed for. Mind ye, I've done for a few other redcoats along the way, so I suppose it's not unjust."

It's difficult to update the Body Count ticker on this sort of vague information, but let us stipulate that the number of people Jamie has killed on the page is not a complete accounting of his lethality.

Jamie explains that he needs to avoid both the English soldiers and the Watch in order to stay alive. He also tells Claire that McTavish isn't his own name, though he doesn't offer his real name.

"Why do you wear your hair cropped?" I asked suddenly, then blushed. "I'm sorry, it's none of my business."

Don't worry about it, Claire. Your lack of tact is both endearing and useful to the voyeuristic reader.

Jamie shows her the scar on his head, explaining that he took a wound in the head.

"I was blind for a month or so after it happened, and my head ached like fury all the time."

Jesus. Maybe he does have some sort of permanent brain damage.

Here, we meet Alec McMahon MacKenzie, the Master of Horse. That, plus Jamie's description of a dream in which tree roots grow through his eye sockets, makes it seem like we've entered some sort of Game of Thrones cross-over episode.

In spite of the fact that I took no part in the horsey conversation, I didn't feel out of place here at all.

Claire's getting very comfortable here. I'm a little surprised at her lack of urgency regarding escape.

Jamie and Alec talk of horses (in Gaelic), and then about the Gathering (inexplicably, in English). It strains belief that they would have this sensitive conversation in front of Claire in a language that she can understand.

There's a bit of talk about Jamie's parents, which I hope to hear more of sometime. Apparently Colum and Dougal were of the opinion that "Black Brian" was a terrible man who stole the sister of whom they were, evidently, quite fond. And by fond, I mean controlling. I assume that we will hear different sides of this story at some point.

We also have the first mention of the Stuarts by any of the 18th-century characters. It seems to be widely known that Dougal is a Jacobite.

Alec tries to persuade Jamie to swear loyalty to Colum, mentioning that he'll have a good job in the stables at Leoch, and that Laoghaire would certainly be happy to see him stay. Jamie protests that he didn't take Laoghaire's beating out of affection, which Alec believes just as much as he should. Honestly, Jamie, no one is going to believe that.

"Even this Sassenach wench can no keep away from ye, and her a new widow!"

At least some people are paying attention.

Claire "wakes up" and offers to take the bandages off Jamie's shoulder, but he refuses. Claire finds this "very odd," as do I. The only thing I can think of is that Alec's teasing has made Jamie self-conscious around Claire and he's sending her away so that she doesn't notice his interest. 

Anyway, Claire walks off with two final thoughts:

1. Who hit Jamie with an axe? One of the MacKenzies? Possibly. I don't remember whether I know the answer to this from the show or not.
2.  "For a young man on the run, with unknown enemies, Jamie had been remarkably confiding to a stranger." Yes. Indeed. Another reason why you should RUN AWAY, Claire. I don't care how attractive he is, this guy has shown nothing but bad judgment since you met him.

Back in the Beaton's room, Claire continues her encounter with 18th-century medicine: 

I closed the book, marveling at the large number of the late doctor's patients who, according to his meticulous log, had not only survived the treatment meted out to them but actually recovered from their original ailments.

She throws out various revolting substances and has an encounter with Davie Beaton's surgical tools, which are so filthy that they stink. Gross. When I was a child, several members of my family were fascinated with the history of medicine, so I spent more than one childhood vacation staring at the old Army Medical Museum collections in the National Museum of Health and Medicine and the National Museum of Civil War Medicine. The surgical tools didn't bother me as much as the slices of preserved tissues in jars, but the worst were the photos of veterans who had actually survived both their wounds and the medical treatments of the day. I would not make a good medical professional — just thinking of those photos of what a lead bullet can do to the human body gives me the shivers.

Luckily, Claire has a stronger stomach. Somebody brings in a man with a torn up foot and her emergency room is officially open for business.

Body Count:

Jamie: 3 + (assorted redcoats)