(Sorry about the giant picture, I can’t figure out how to get rid of it.)
Dudes and dudettes, it has been many moons since I was this much of a freak over a TV show. There’s so much going on (and has been for the past two days), I haven’t had a chance to capture any of it in blog form! You can check out my Twitter to see most of it. (Virtual bachelorette party for Claire? FUN!) It will probably be a day or two before I get a chance to gather my thoughts *coughgetthemoutoftheguttercough* and write a post about Episode 7.
DO NOT miss Tonight’s event! There will be nerves, the first sparks of true love, unflagging joy, and FINE ASSES. (Herself said that very thing about poor Sam — he must already be struggling to get to the wild attentions from legions of fangirls and boys of a certain persuasion lavish upon him. After tonight? He just has no idea. I just wish people would keep their perving to themselves and their fangroups, and NOT CC Sam every damn thing on Twitter. Seriously, it’s embarrassing.)
This couple have been my very favorite for over 20 years, and it began in earnest with this very chapter — the one (well, two-ish) we will see onscreen tonight. Allow me to quote, because I’m sure none of you have it all memorized by now.
SPOILERS FOR OUTLANDER (The Book and probably The Series)
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.
A Highlander in full regalia is an impressive sight—any Highlander, no matter how old, ill-favored, or crabbed in appearance. A tall, straight-bodied, and by no means ill-favored young Highlander at close range is breath-taking.
The thick red-gold hair had been brushed to a smooth gleam that swept the collar of a fine lawn shirt with tucked front, belled sleeves, and lace-trimmed wrist frills that matched the cascade of the starched jabot at the throat, decorated with a ruby stickpin.
His tartan was a brilliant crimson and black that blazed among the more sedate MacKenzies in their green and white. The flaming wool, fastened by a circular silver brooch, fell from his right shoulder in a graceful drape, caught by a silver-studded sword belt before continuing its sweep past neat calves clothed in woolen hose and stopping just short of the silver-buckled black leather boots. Sword, dirk, and badger-skin sporran completed the ensemble.
Well over six feet tall, broad in proportion, and striking of feature, he was a far cry from the grubby horse-handler I was accustomed to—and he knew it. Making a leg in courtly fashion, he swept me a bow of impeccable grace, murmuring “Your servant, ma’am,” eyes glinting with mischief.
“Oh,” I said faintly.
Heh. Claire is left at a loss for words by her HAAAWWWWWT husband-to-be.
He looked down at me and cocked a ruddy eyebrow. “Oh. It’s Fraser. James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser.” He pronounced it formally, each name slow and distinct.
Completely flustered, I said “Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp,” and stuck out my hand idiotically. Apparently taking this as a plea for support, he took the hand and tucked it firmly into the crook of his elbow. Thus inescapably pinioned, I squelched up the path to my wedding.
And there we have it, the birth of JAMMF in our imaginations. *sigh*
We were nearly at the bottom when lack of food, the remnants of a hangover, and the general stresses of the day caught up with me. 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. I smiled shakily back.
Let’s face it, stress or no, I think most of us would faint. AMIRITE, ladies?
But it’s the way he treats her behind closed doors that does me in. Trying to make her comfortable by encouraging her to talk about poor Frank is so sweet.
“Then I shall do my best to honor his spirit by serving his wife.” He raised my hands and kissed each one formally.
I cleared my throat. “That was a very gallant speech, Jamie.”
He grinned suddenly. “Aye. I made it up while Dougal was making toasts downstairs.”
And that — so Jamie, solemn and humorous in the same conversation. Pretty much the same sentence.
“And I shall give ye the same. Now,” he drew a deep breath, “you asked why I wed ye.”
“I am just the slightest bit curious,” I said.
He smiled, the wide mouth taking up the humor that lurked in his eyes. “Well, I canna say I blame ye. I had several reasons. And in fact, there’s one—maybe two—that I canna tell ye yet, though I will in time. The main reason, though, is the same reason you wed me, I imagine; to keep ye safe from the hands of Jack Randall.”
I shuddered a bit at the memory of the Captain, and Jamie’s hands tightened on mine.
“You are safe,” he said firmly. “You have my name and my family, my clan, and if necessary, the protection of my body as well. The man willna lay hands on ye again, while I live.”
“Thank you,” I said. Looking at that strong, young, determined face, with its broad cheekbones and solid jaw, I felt for the first time that this preposterous scheme of Dougal’s might actually have been a reasonable suggestion.
The protection of my body. The phrase struck with particular impact, looking at him—the resolute set of the wide shoulders and the memory of his graceful ferocity, “showing off” at wordplay in the moonlight. He meant it; and young as he was, he knew what he meant, and bore the scars to prove it. He was no older than many of the pilots and the infantrymen I had nursed, and he knew as well as they the price of commitment. It was no romantic pledge he had made me, but the blunt promise to guard my safety at the cost of his own. I hoped only that I could offer him something in return.
“That’s most gallant of you,” I said, with absolute sincerity. “But was it worth, well, worth marriage?”
“It was,” he said, nodding. He smiled again, a little grimly this time. “I’ve good reason to know the man, ye ken. I wouldna see a dog given into his keeping if I could prevent it, let alone a helpless woman.”
<<<<<*has already fainted herself*
He studied his wineglass with some care. “Perhaps it’s just that I want to bed you.” He looked up abruptly. “Did ye think of that?”
If he meant to disconcert me, he was succeeding nicely, but I resolved not to show it.
“Well, do you?” I asked boldly.
“If I’m bein’ honest, yes, I do.” The blue eyes were steady over the rim of the glass.
“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 you marriage!”
“Many men would,” I said, amused at his innocence.
He sputtered a bit, at a momentary loss. Then regaining his composure, said with formal dignity, “Perhaps I am pretentious in saying so, but I would like to think that I am not ‘many men,’ and that I dinna necessarily place my behavior at the lowest common denominator.”
Oh sir, neither would we. Neither would we.
I could go on forever. I could cut and paste the entire chapter. But there is nothing like reading it, seeing it in your imagination. And tonight… see it adapted onscreen. I am so glad that we have Sam Heughan and Caitriona Balfe to take it into their tender keeping. So to speak. *G* They’ve done such a wonderful job, their chemistry is so undeniable, and they are SO DAMN PRETTY, I have no doubt that we are going to see something wonderful tonight!