The shot discharged with a cloud of smoke. Jamie gasped and winced with pain.
That was the last straw. She had a lot of nerve just showing up, but she wouldn’t get very far.
“Ian,” Claire said, “help him inside and wait for me.”
“Of course, Auntie.”
Once both of them were out of sight, Claire went for it. By profession and nature, she wasn’t one to hurt people, but this was an exception. She ran at Laoghaire, knocking both of them to the ground.
“Jamie’s mine, you damn piece of slime.”
Roger and his wife lay down in bed, snuggled together on the edge of sleep.
“You know, Bree,” he said. “In all the years we’ve been marrit, we havena really had a honeymoon.”
In answer, she rolled over on her stomach and leaned on her elbows, facing him.
“That’s true, but there wasn’t much time for vacation in the eighteenth century. Did you have anything in mind?” Brianna asked. “By the way, I love your voice when you’re sleepy. Your accent comes out, and it reminds me of Da.”
I dinna exactly have anything in mind, but I’ll figure something out. Do ye miss your parents?” he asked.
Yeah. Always. It’s a bit harder to bear when Jem randomly starts speaking Gaelic, but it’s not like I’m going to stop him. He’s already been traumatized by Mrs. What’s-Her-Face. Besides, it reminds me of the good times we had.”
“We certainly had fun, didn’t we?” Roger said.
“Yeah, we did,” Bree said, laughing quietly and rolling on her side with her head on Roger’s chest, looking up at the ceiling. “It’s just weird missing people who are in another century.”
Soon after that, they both fell asleep.
Continue reading “The Honeymoon”
Being married to John was different, to say the least. We had friendship, but even that seemed to be strained under the circumstances. I just couldn’t believe that Jamie was dead. It wasn’t that I was in denial; I didn’t know what to think.
The morning was bright, sunlight streaming in through the bedroom windows upstairs. John was still sleeping, so I got up quietly and went down to make myself some tea. I sat down at the table and tried to make sense of everything that had happened. Ian was dead, that much I could believe. As soon as I saw him, I knew he wouldn’t last much longer. But now … No, Jamie wasn’t dead. I didn’t know how I knew, I just did. However, I’d play along until I had some sort of proof.
Continue reading “An Eighteenth Century April Fool’s Day “