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)