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clandonnachaidh · 2 years

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Light Across the Seas that Severed (Ch10)

AO3

For the first time in years, Jamie woke without the dead weight of unsaid things hanging around his neck.

He closed his eyes and savoured the memory of the previous night, Claire’s face twisting in disbelief when he told her to go to sleep after he’d kissed the life out of her, and made a promise to himself that he would keep a level head today until everything had been resolved between them. He almost laughed out loud in surprise at the idea of a resolution to the saga that had been going on for years. And now to have heard it from her lips, to know that she felt the same and that she wanted him too felt almost surreal.

His knees didn’t crack with the same twinge of pain as he left his bed and quickly jumped into the shower, managing to give himself at least a cursory scrub before the hot water turned to ice against his skin which not only meant that Claire was awake but that she was already out of bed. He wondered if she was as nervous as he was and with shaky hands, Jamie quickly switched off the shower and tried not to think about Claire soaping up her body a few steps down the hall.

The thought of her naked and dripping with hot water might have put a little extra speed in his movements as he got himself dressed and made the way to her with the thin excuse of providing his guest with a fresh towel. Just as he quietly snuck into the bedroom and put the not-too-soft towel on her bed, which had already been made beautifully, pillows plumped and all, his eyes caught sight of a bundle that had been unceremoniously dumped outside the door to the en suite.

Without thinking, he scooped the garments up in his arms with the thought that doing a little bit of laundry might take one more small thing off her mind. The idea of it being a rather intimate gesture was lost on him, fingers grasping denim jeans and a linen shirt before he found himself touching lace. A lump formed in his throat as he looked down.

Pale lilac.

The exact shade of purple that he had seen all the years whenever he closed his eyes. The same delicate colour that had so prettily complimented her skin the night that she bared herself to him. The night that ruined him for anyone else.

So lost in his thoughts was Jamie that he hadn’t time to try to look like he wasn’t pawing at her garments when the door opened and Claire caught him red-handed.

“I’m so sorry, Sassenach, I only meant to—“

Claire’s hand raised in supplication as she interrupted him, “Don’t worry about it—“

“No really, I shouldnae have—“

They were both aware of their jabbering on but for some reason were unable to stop. Knowing that whatever came out of her mouth next would be just as useless, Claire snatched the offending item from his hands.

It was then that Jamie realised that she had the tiniest excuse for a towel wrapped around her.

“Christ, I’m sorry! I brought you another towel, a… well, a bigger one.” Jamie gestured to the bed and tried to ignore the feeling of the embarrassment burning the tips of his ears. “Ye’ll be wantin’ breakfast and coffee, I’ll see to it.”

And with that, he practically threw himself out of the room and down the stairs, cringing at the sound of Claire’s quiet giggling.

When she entered the kitchen a few minutes later, fully dressed in a t-shirt and comfortable joggers much to Jamie’s disappointment, she snorted at his inability to meet her eye.

“If I’d known a simple bra was enough to set you off, I would’ve been more careful,” she joked as she crossed the flagstone floor in her bare feet and took up residence on the bench that ran the length of the kitchen table. “Big Jamie Fraser, scared of a woman’s underthings.”

He made sure she caught the rolling of his eyes as he placed her mug of coffee in front of her.

“I am more than acquainted with underthings, just…” he trailed off before he embarrassed himself.

“What?”

“Nothin’. Ye’ll tease me,” he replied, the mischief in his own voice making her smile even wider.

“And when have I ever done something like that?”

Her fake indignation was adorable. Jamie felt his body coming alive, acknowledging the gentle ribbing that had always been so easy between them. And he also recognised the simmering tension that lay beneath it all but this time, he wasn’t afraid of it or trying to hide it. And so he placed both of his large hands on the table and leaned forward, his shoulders rounding out underneath his t-shirt which he was pleased to see had caught Claire’s eye, just as her lower lip was caught in her teeth.

He realised that they had never really flirted before. And realised how much he liked it.

Deciding that teasing her was too fun, he pulled away just the second that she instinctively moved towards him, now looking at his mouth. Claire shook her head with a start when he put the distance between herself, as if she had been surprised by being in his game of cat and mouse. Jamie decided to take pity on her and tell her the truth.

“It wasnae the bra itself. More… the colour,” Jamie cleared his throat before turning back to the stovetop to dish up breakfast, continuing. “Ye’ll think me a lecher but ’tis similar to the one you wore in Amsterdam.”

All the bravado, the confidence that he felt moments earlier evaporated with every second of silence that filled the room. When he finally turned back to face her, he was surprised to see a calmness across her face. Her head ducked as she fiddled with a curl, looping it around her index finger before pushing it behind her ear only for it to spring back to it’s original place.

“That was rather intentional, actually. I did that, over the years. Little things that brought me comfort whenever I felt alone. It was almost like I… well, kept parts of you with me.”

Well, he thought, this is new.

Last night’s confessions had paved the way for the truth to be laid bare in front of the other. It felt like they were talking together for the first time in years.

As Jamie took his seat across the table from her, he yielded, “Aye, suppose I did the same.”

Without shame or shyness, he brought his hand up in front of his body, offering her his palm. She stared into his eyes, not sure of the gesture, but instinctively took his hand in hers, bringing her line of sight down at his open hand.

“What is that? Is that—?”

Her fingers traced over the C that he had cut into the mound of his palm that day on the beach.

“I know it’s a bit dramatic but I think ye ken that about me already, Sassenach,” he grinned wryly, earning a laugh. “I wanted a way to remember you always, to tuck you away in my heart and know that my body would forever be marked by you as my heart had.”

Jamie watched as Claire’s eyes filled with tears, one solitary tear spilling over her lash line and trailing down her cheek. As he went to brush it away with the hand that she still held in hers, she swooped down and pressed her lips to the scar, closing her eyes almost reverently.

The room was silent again but the energy that surrounded them was screaming.

He felt Claire’s tongue leave her mouth momentarily to lave at the wound that had been healed long ago. Jamie immediately stifled a gasp which quickly turned into a groan when he caught the feral look that had taken over Claire’s eyes. Swiping her hand across to clear her path, she practically pounced as her knees hit the top of the table and she moved towards him in an instant, Jamie quickly getting to his feet so that their mouths became level with the other’s before Claire began to devour him.

If he had been the instigator last night, there was no question who was in charge this time round.

Her fingers seemed to have turned into claws that scratched and grabbed at him, pulling at the thin layer of cotton that clothed his upper body and mewling like a desperate animal. Her mouth was open as she panted but kept her tongue firmly against his, not letting the two of them to be separated for a moment. Jamie’s instincts took over and he put his hands on her glorious arse, lifting and pulling at her until she wrapped her legs around his waist and he lowered her against the flagstone floor, covering her body with his own.

She started to grab at her own clothes then, trying to wrestle her top from herself but Jamie’s hands stilled hers.

“Won’t ye be cold, mo ghraidh?” He whispered against her lips.

“I don’t give a fuck if I’m cold. I need to feel your skin.”

“Aye,” he breathed, pulling her up to sit and practically tearing both of their shirts off. His chest was heaving with heavy breaths as he saw her bare in front of him, her perfect breasts that he dreamt about so often. He pushed her back down against the floor so he could take her in, delighting in the pink flush that had appeared over her collarbones as he traced a fingertip across them and down.

He kept his voice quiet and steady.

“Can I touch ye, Sassenach?”

“Yes,” she breathed.

“Can I kiss ye?”

Her eyes fluttered close as he bent down to ghost his lips over the rise of her breasts, “Yes!”

“Will ye let me love ye, Claire?”

“Yes, yes, a hundred times yes!”

With her enthusiastic consent, Jamie closed his lips around one pretty pink nipple as he slid his hand under the waistline of Claire’s loose joggers, finding her bare underneath. He crushed his head against her sternum with a groan as he found her warm and wet and impossibly soft.

“Oh, Claire,” he whispered as he devoured her lips again, rubbing his finger down the length of her before gently pushing inside, earning what sounded like a sob.

His head snapped up to meet her eyes and he saw that she really was crying. Mortified, he moved quickly to retract his hand but her fingers wrapped tightly around his wrist, keeping him where he was.

“Please, don’t stop! Please touch me just like that, touch me however you like, just please don’t stop touching me! Please Jamie!” she begged frantically.

He felt conflicted in the moment and wanted to stop and talk it through but when Claire began to use the hand that she was still holding onto to rub against, he decided to trust her to know her own body and her own limits. Although he was gentler with his kisses, pouring all the love and respect that he felt for her into every own, letting his tongue slide slowly against hers as he fingers worked inside of her and the base of his palm rubbed against her aching sex. Claire was still crying slightly but he could hear the pleasure that her sobs were tinged with, could see in her eyes that she was close to finding her physical bliss and he anticipated that she would also experience a very strong emotional release.

He wanted to give it to her more than anything else in the world.

“That’s it, my lass, let yerself feel it. Ye are safe and whole and loved. My God, ye are so loved. I love ye so much, Claire. Let me hear ye, pretty lass.”

His words pushed her over the edge and he felt her contract around him with the sharp sting of her nails biting into his skin as she anchored herself to him. The scream that poured from her seemed to ripple its way up her spine, her head pushing against the floor and her back arching to the sky as her mouth hung open, eyes wide.

When her body became slack, Jamie made sure to gather her against himself to keep her from the cold floor. Claire was still breathing heavily but it calmed him to see that there were no fresh tears. Her leopard eyes were glazed and heavy, unable to quite focus on any one particular thing.

Careful not to move too quickly, Jamie got to his feet with Claire still held in his arms and moved through to the living room, gently sitting them both of the sofa and settling Claire in his lap, still skin to skin. He freed one arm from her to grab the tartan throw that hung over the back of the sofa and was amazed to see when she held her hand out for his arm to settle back around her back, as though she could not bare to be away from him for one moment. It was awkward and clumsy but he finally got enough of their bodies covered by the tartan and he felt her muscles relax as her eyes began to close again.

“Lay yer heid, lass. I will be right here when ye wake.”

#light across the seas that severed #clan donnachaidh #ao3 #outlander fanfic #jamie fraser #Claire beauchamp #outlander #modern au

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optivion · 2 years

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Imagination and Rejuvenation

And so it goes in to the vortex of sound and creativity, where time has no dominion!!! CHECK OUT OPTIVION ON SPOTIFY!!!

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aleprouswitch · 5 months

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Dumb ancestry fact: The Scottish Highlander clan my family comes from, Clan Donnachaidh (Robertson), has a historical rivalry with Clan Ogilvie.

This means that if I ever crossed paths with Nivek Ogre, we'd probably duke it out in the street 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿💀🥊

#dora shut up

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winterwrites23 · 2 years

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How many kilts total are in Scotland's closet?

Surprisingly, he only has a handful of them at a time but he takes great care of them. It's almost ceremonial in the way he takes time to keep them in perfect condition. Even though the kilt only first appeared by the 16th century, it became an important part of Scotland's identity, especially after the Dress Act 1746.

He had kilts from different clans over the years but he always keeps one from Clan Donnachaidh, also known as Clan Duncan and one of the oldest clans in Scotland. It holds a special importance for him because it was the first clan he was part of.

However, although he takes great pride in showing off his kilt and looks regal in wearing it (even if wore casually), he won't hesitate to combine it with the gaudiest and tackiest of shirts.

#hetalia #aph scotland #hws scotland #pretty sure some of his old kilts can be found in museums #and he's smug about it when he reads the little description card saying it's in pristine condition even though it's centuries old #also for the anon who asked about the tie dye shirt kilt #I didn't forget you!! I just want to draw it but haven't got the time lol

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scotianostra · 2 years

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19th July 1654 saw a Royalist uprising in the Highlands, it was part what became known as The Glencairn Uprising.

This particular episode became known as the Battle of Dalnaspidal, but reading up on it, it was more of a skirmish or just a rout, the Kings men put up very little fight.

This was all part of a messy affair, which had it’s origins in The English Civil war, this particular era was however known as The War of the three Kingdoms. It was one of the last engagements of the war in Scotland bringing an end to the Royalist rising of 1651 to 1654.

Earl of Glencairn and raised an army mainly from Clan MacGregor. He would have no difficulty recruiting them because one of their opponents was the Earl of Argyll, a Campbell, one of their hereditary enemies.

Alexander, the 12th chief of the Robertson Clan, led his men from Fea Corrie. Both forces met above Annat and marched up the old path to Loch Garry.

On the evening of 19th July 1654, Thomas Morgan, Commander-in-Chief of the English army in Scotland surprised Royalist troops led by John Middleton, 1st Earl of Middleton near the loch at the Drumochter Pass. The Royalist horse had become separated from the foot. When Morgan’s superior forces advanced towards them, most of Middleton’s cavalry fled, leaving the infantry unprotected. As the cavalry continued to advance, the Royalist infantry also turned and ran.

The fight at Dalnaspidal broke the Royalist insurrection in the Highlands. Although wounded, Middleton managed to escape into the mountains, but he was never able to gather a substantial force again. General Monck wanted all the leaders of the uprising put to death, but the Protector and Council promised a pardon to all those who submitted William, Earl of Glencairn surrendered to General Monck in September 1654. Middleton escaped back to the Continent and rejoined Charles II in exile.

Much more on this at Clan Donnachaidh Society in the States of all places, sometimes you have to look afar to find details of our history….. https://www.robertson.org/CW_Battle_of_Dalnaspidal.html

#Scotland #scottish #Battle #scottish highlands #us civil war #history

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gduncan969 · 10 days

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Learn to suffer

”.....We must through many tribulations enter the kingdom of God.”

‭‭Acts‬ ‭14‬:‭22‬ ‭NKJV‬‬

The Scots have been doing a great job these days marketing all kinds of Scottish paraphernalia and trinkets. Scottish Clan Flags are no exception. Even if your last name is Alibaba, there's a Scottish entrepreneur who will come up with a flag for the MacAlibaba clan complete with coat of arms and clan motto on a tartan backdrop of the clan's one-of-a-kind tartan which you can proudly fly from your condo in Acapulco. The photo shows my own clan's flag---Clan Donnachaidh (Gaelic for Duncan)---with its challenging motto, "Disce Pati" meaning "learn to suffer". Now, I've often wondered how the first clan chief (Hamish Donnachaidh??) came up with that one. I suspect he was probably a hen-pecked husband who had suffered his wife's nagging ways over many years! However, the motto does carry great biblical significance which applies to all of us who trust in Jesus.

I've always associated Acts 14:22 with the trials Christians face from "the outside" as they go about their daily lives but events happening in these my final years on this planet have convinced me the tribulations go far deeper into to 'the inside" struggles we are all having in coming to grips with what life throws at us as "we travel this sod". Things can take a turn for the worse suddenly and unexpectedly and we find ourselves, like Job, questioning God, "Why me" and the silence from Heaven can be deafening. So, we start to wonder if He is still listening to our cries, does He still care, have we done something wrong to offend Him? In all of this the devil laughs and God sighs because we fail to understand that what we committed to the Lord all those years ago---our very lives---God still faithfully holds and protects in His love for us and, in fact, it is He who is taking us through this time of tribulation to work in us what only tribulation can work. We best learn to trust Him when He seems to have left us all on our own. How else will we ever know He is trustworthy? The Bible is full of his many promises to us but they remain only as words and a page until we are led into those scary circumstances that have us wailing to him, "Where are you Lord? But after we have come through the other side there is that calm assurance he was there all the time. There's an old chorus that says,

"Make me a vessel of honor for God,

Make me a vessel of honor for God,

Sanctified, holy, that I might be

A vessel of honor for God."

Making vessels is God's business, being yielded clay is ours.

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bewitchingbooktours · 2 years

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Meet Horror Author Ian Conner Sunday August 14 at 2:30pm Warwicks Bookstore, 7812 Girard Ave, La Jolla, CA 92037

Cardinals Book Description: A completely new twist on Stoker's tale. Nine Hundred years before Christ, God has cast his wife, Asherah, out of heaven and condemned her to roam the earth as the first vampire. Over the centuries, she created other vampires. There are also those that she left for dead but survived her attack without being completely turned into vampires. These survivors are called Cardinals. Scottish Countess Kellena Donnachaidh and Lady Suzette Allard, our protagonists, are among these cardinals. They are searching out Asherah for a final conflict. Asherah has discovered a way back to heaven so she can exact her vengeance. Using the Amulet of Cassiel she can call the Flaming chariot of Israel to return to heaven.

Now, 3000 years later, there are groups working to destroy Asherah and the vampires. The Vatican and other groups, fearing their own destruction if she ascends, simply want to stop Asherah using the Amulet of Cassiel to re-enter heaven. The race to recover the Amulet is full of intrigue, betrayal. https://amzn.to/3zFbMXm

Ghost Witch The Two Spears and Four Claws clans for generations. Now the evil has returned, once again threatening the lives of a young mother and her twin babies. It is an evil that temporarily killed and banished with fire and magic, but it can never be destroyed. It is a source of great shame for the clans. So much so, that it is never spoken about outside of the tribe. Carlyle Allen, the wealthy new owner of Haunted Gap, is building his dream home for he and his young bride, Rebecca. Carlyle discovers a hidden room in the basement and comes across the corpse of "The Maiden", a form the evil entity takes to seduce and trick people into doing its bidding. A very pregnant Rebecca Allen visits Haunted Gap for the first time. Rebecca becomes exposed to poison from "The Maiden," leading to a trip to the clinic where she meets Maggie Four Claws and Dr. Sally Manning. Realizing that Rebecca has been marked by the Ghost witch, she contacts her grandmother Opal for help and to alert the clans. Maggie manages to convince both Rebecca Allen and Dr. Manning that she and the babies are danger, not only from the Ghost Witch, but from her husband Carlyle as well. As Dr. Manning races to get Rebecca to safety, the Ghost Witch causes an accident, allowing Carlyle to kidnap Rebecca in order to sacrifice her and the children to "The Maiden." Meanwhile, Maggie Four Claws, Grandma Opal, and the rest of the clans move into action to hunt down and banish the Ghost Witch. But, will they find the evil in time enough to destroy it and save Rebecca and her babies? https://amzn.to/3zCcKnj

#horror #warwicks #legend #booksigning #HorrorAuthor #CaliforniaAuthor #CaliforniaBookSigning #GhostWitch #HauntedGap #SanDiegoAuthor #LaJollaBookSigning #LaJollaBookstore

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cincinnatusvirtue · 3 years

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Abandoned places: Dunalastair Castle/The Hermitage, ruins in the Scottish Highlands, Homestead of Clan Robertson...

The Scottish Highlands have a storied history and one steeped in romantic imagery, locations & characters. The history of the Scottish Highlands for the last few centuries is linked in the minds of many with the Scottish Clans system, an outgrowth of ancient Celtic social traditions. The clan system, despite a common belief of one single related family, is in fact a more broad system of kinship. One in which a singular family would maintain leadership of surrounding families in the area and in exchange for their recognized leadership and the collection later of taxes, the leading family’s most senior patriarch was to provide guidance and protection to the loyal families, creating a unique social bond where all were “related” or members of the same clan. These leaders were the clan chiefs and traditionally lead the able bodied men of the clan in times of war and conducting raids on rival clans, usually for cattle, the common currency of Scottish clans. Meanwhile, in times of peace they made alliances and conducted diplomacy with other clans, sometimes through marital alliances. Over time, clan members whether descended from the chief or in member families adopted a common surname or variations thereof, these become known as the septs of the clan and over time different branches could expand as lands changed hands. Its from this system that well known Scottish surnames have spread the world over such as Stewart, Campbell, Bruce, Montgomery, MacDonald, MacKinnon, Munro/Monroe, Macleod, Mackenzie, Robertson and others have come to be known.

Clan Robertson, known in Gaelic as Clann Donnachaidh (Clan Duncanson) has two hypothesized origins of their name. One is they descend from the second son (Duncan) of the Scottish Lord of the Isles Angus MacDonald, descendant of the well known Somerled of mixed Gaelic/Viking ancestry. The second, more widely accepted theory is lineal descent from the Gaelic (Celtic) Earls of Atholl, a district in the Highlands on tradition Clan Robertson land. These earls were descended from the King of Scots, Duncan I (1001-1040), probably through his son Mael Muire, made Earl (ruler) of Atholl.

The name Robertson came about in the 15th century when the 4th Clan Chief, Robert Duncanson, an ardent supporter of the Stewart King of Scotland, James I was angered by the monarch’s murder. He then tracked down and captured two of the conspirators, Sir Robert Graham & Walter Stewart, Earl of Atholl (James I’s uncle). Robert handed over the conspirators to be placed under torture and death by order’s of James I’s wife, Joan Beaufort. Robert Duncanson was awarded the crest badge that remains with the clan to this day by James II on 1451. The crest shows the a imperial crown clutched in a hand with the clan motto in Latin displayed: Virtutis gloria merces (glory is the reward of valor). As a further reward of gratitude from the Scottish king, the Clan Chief and clan got the additional lands in the realm of Atholl, including the Barony of Struan, over which Clan Chiefs rule to this day. In honor of Robert Duncanson, his descendants became known as Robertson which spread to the all members of the clan subsequently. Presently, it has many variations including Robb, Robbie, Roberts, Robins/Robbins, Robison etc. Other variations from the original Duncanson include Duncan & Reid.

Struan & Atholl are found in the Scottish Highlands in the traditional county of Perthshire, modern day Perth & Kinross. The clan lands included the villages of Struan and Blair Atholl among others as well as Lochs Tay & Rannoch and are to be found in the Grampian Mountains, a range that makes up the Central Highlands. It is a land with snow covered mountains, forests, many rivers and valleys intertwined with the aforementioned lakes and some moorlands to the west.

From the late 17th century into the 18th century, one of the longer reigning clan chiefs of Clan Robertson was Alexander Robertson, 13th Chief of Clan Robertson (circa 1670-1749) who in time would be known as the Poet Chief for his love of the written word and poetry. He was known as a fierce Jacobite, displaying the long standing loyalty to the Stuarts/Stewarts, he is the only known clan leader to have fought in all three Jacobite rebellions (1689, 1715 &1745) against the armies of William III and later the Hanoverian Kings of Great Britain. In 1746 his lands were confiscated following the defeat of Jacobite forces including Highlanders at the last pitched battle fought on British soil, the Battle of Culloden.

Alexander Robertson had no children and so his chiefdom passed on to other family. In his lifetime, he built a castle estate he called the Hermitage, it was located near the River Tummel between the Dunalastair Reservoir and Loch Rannoch, the famed mountain Schiehallion with its snowcapped peaks overlooks the grounds. It is surrounded by forest and it served as the traditional Clan seat or castle. The Hermitage was a place where Alexander entertained his guests with drunken parties and poetry recitals recalling the great historical deeds of his ancestors, often portrayed in a romanticized heroic manner. His poetry was sometimes scandalous both for its sexual explicitness of romantic conquests, innuendo and sedition against the Hanoverian monarchs of Britain. He also forbade women from entering the grounds of the Hermitage due to his perceived misogyny as sometimes reflected in his poems reflecting his own sexual conquests. In 1746, following the defeat at Culloden, the Hermitage was burned to the ground by Hanoverian government troops as a lesson to the leaders of the rebellious Jacobite movement.

Alexander, moved into a small single room hut some miles to the west in Rannoch Moor, the western most part of the traditional Robertson lands. He was still the Clan Chief but dispossessed of his traditional lands and his cause he turned to his only two comforts at that time, poetry and alcohol. He still wrote of the heroic deeds of the clan’s ancestors, performing a clan essential duty, ancestor worship. However, his alcoholism continued to worsen and caused health issues in his advanced age. He had few visitors willing to visit him in the isolated and desolate location he found himself in, which coupled with alcohol fueled persona increased his isolation, he died in 1749, around the age of 80. Despite his alienation in the last few years of his life, Alexander’s coffin was accompanied by 2,000 clansmen who followed it 15 miles across moorland, river valleys and mountain lined lake shores to be buried in the old graveyard of Struan, part of the clan’s barony.

Eventually, a new home was built on the site of the Hermitage which included double towers around the year 1800. This home was called Mount Alexander, after the famed Poet Chief. In 1853, Clan Robertson’s 18th chief, George Duncan Robertson sold it to the MacDonald family. The new owner, Sir John MacDonald, demolished Mount Alexander and by 1859 completed the structure which stands today, built in the baronial style it was known as Dunalastair House (Alexander’s Fort) also in honor of the famed Poet Chief and his Hermitage estate. It went through a number of owners and the greater estate has current owners but Dunalastair House was in use as a residence up through World War I, by the conclusion of that time, it no longer could maintained due to expense for the many servants and groundskeepers needed. During World War II, it was used as a boarding school for Polish boys who fled to Britain to escape the Nazi and Soviet takeover of their homeland, it was also converted to a girls school later. However, the home was not well maintained and by the 1950′s its remaining contents were at last sold off. Abandoned thereafter, it was subject to vandalism and the elements of weather. The lead roof was stolen by the 1960′s and since then the Scottish rains had emptied onto the roofless stone ruins with its towers and spires, still with a dirt road leading to its grounds in the midst of forested lands, the ruins are visited by curious travelers to this day. The surrounding grounds are still owned by a private family but they now have another home they reside in, there are cottages on the estate that are rented out to travelers and there is a nearby hotel that also uses the name Dunalastair.

In the present, no grant or additional money has been put into restoring the house to its former glory, so it remains a ruin of days long since passed, but the site, nestled amidst the Highlands and in the shadow of Schiehallion’s peak and surrounded by flowing rivers, shimmering lakes and groves of forest over rolling hills is a romantic spot, like it was in the Poet Chief’s day. Also on the grounds are the burials of a number of former Robertson Clan chieftains, reminders of times of times long gone...

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la-sorciere-fleur · 5 years

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Culloden Moor 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿𗁱

#Clan Donnachaidh #Clan Robertson #Culloden #Culloden Moor #Battle of Culloden #Scotland #Scottish Highlands #Highlander Culture #Virtutis Gloria Merces

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deadstrangeblog · 5 years

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Dunalastair Castle, Scotland, was once home to the great Donnachaidh Clan. It now lies abandoned, but guests can still spend time in and around the huge highland estate.

#creepy #wtf #spooky #all hallows eve #halloween #scary #scotland #scottish #abandoned #abandoned building

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rolloroberson · 1 year

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Paul McCartney

#scottish ancestry #scottish highlands #clan Donnachaidh #paul mccartney #wings #mull of kintyre #Spotify

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clandonnachaidh · 2 years

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Light Across the Seas That Severed (Ch9)

AO3

When he woke the morning after, a mere six hours later, he did so with a groan.

He’d been having such a good dream but the more he tried to grasp at the loose threads, the more the details evaded him.

He knew that he had been surrounded by warmth and softness and closed his eyes in an attempt to chase the feeling that had enveloped him. A pair of whisky irises flooded his mind’s eye and he bolted upright in his bed, hands instinctively shielding the tent that he was making in his bedding.

“Fuck sake, Fraser,” he chastised himself, refusing to give it another moment’s thought as he tore out of his bed and into the bathroom for a bitingly cold shower.

The icy water had its desired effect of pulling him from his bawdy dream but also brought with it a startling clarity that he had not had the day before. For years he had planned on what he would do and say if Claire ever stumbled back into his life and now here she was, not having stumbled at all but accepting an offer of sanctuary and he had acted like a fool. Squeezing his eyes shut as he placed his palms against the tile, he let the water beat against the back of his neck and shoulders in sufferance. He had barely said more than a handful of words to her. Now he came to think of it, Jamie couldn’t even remember if he’d offered any semblance of a welcome, just mumbled about his lack of preparedness and ran off to the shops when he couldn’t stand the awkwardness any longer.

When he had finally made himself presentable and firmly told himself to get a grip, he made his way downstairs into the kitchen and saw no signs of life. Confused when his dog wasn’t sat dutifully beside the back door, Jamie turned to set the kettle on the stovetop and found a note attached to it.

thank you for the stir fry, it was v tasty. slept well but woke up way too early. bribed the girls with breakfast so i could collect the eggs. away for a walk, bran with me. x

Not wanting to act like a teenager, even despite his morning wood’s renewed vigor, Jamie tried not to let the fact that Claire had signed off with a kiss go to his head. After sorting himself with a coffee and switching on Radio 6, he found six large eggs in the basket on the table and set about making an omelette which he ladened with butter and cheese.

Singing along in his tone deaf voice to the latest pop hit that he had no recollection of ever learning the words to, he set down the spatula that he was wielding just as the kitchen door opened and closed. With a cold gust of air and Bran’s head now neatly tucked under his palm, nose twitching at the prospect of food, his skin warmed at the sound of her voice.

“Good morning. What have you got there?”

Claire’s eyes caught the frying pan on the stovetop and ducked out of the door once again, returning in a matter of seconds with a handful of greenery which she tore roughly as she crossed to Jamie and dropped into the eggs.

Jamie startled, an expletive noise bursting from him as he looked helplessly at the breakfast Claire had just seemingly ruined.

“Sorry! Do you not like chives?”

“…chives?”

“You have wild chives growing outside. I just thought they’d go well in the omelette.”

“Oh. Chives, ye say?”

“Chives,” she smirked. “Now is it ready to eat or shall we stand around and say chives a few more times?”

“Coffee?” he conceded as she moved to sit on the bench, folding herself neatly before planting her elbows on the table and looking closely at him.

“Please.”

“So ye slept well?”

“Unsurprisingly but yes. Although I think I’m all off kilter now. I had my dinner at 3am this morning.”

“Well, if ye fancy it, we can get a takeaway tonight? Might reheat better if ye end up needing to sleep again.”

“I’m craving carbs. Is there an Italian in the village we could order from?”

“There is but they dinna deliver. Still, if I phone Thom and ask to pick it up, I’m sure he winna mind.”

“Oh no, I don’t want to—“

“Sassenach, wheesht. It’s fine.”

It was the first time he’d called her by his nickname for her since she’d darkened his door. And he didn’t miss the smile that burst onto her face at the sound of it.

“Okay then.”

That night, they sat across from each other, lit by candlelight and warmed by the fire that Jamie had set in the woodturner in the kitchen. The strands of spaghetti twisted lazily around the tines of Claire's fork as she brought them to her mouth, letting the sauce drop onto her chin. Whether it was the jetlag or the red wine, she didn’t know and she couldn’t find it in herself to care, stifling a small moan as the rich sauce hit her tongue.

Jamie realised he was openly staring at her lips when she blushed in response, laughing slightly in embarrassment.

“Sorry, ye’ve jus’ got a wee bit of sauce right here,” Jamie said, motioning to his own chin.

Claire grew redder still and wiped clumsily at her chin with the back of her hand, foregoing the paper towel that was within her reach. At the sound of his guffaw, she doubled down on her lack of manners and boldly licked the sauce from her skin, earning a proper laugh from deep in his chest.

“Christ, have ye no shame, Sassenach?”

“Frank used to say I was raised by wolves. It’s taken me all these years to even notice that he had practically trained me to raise my hand to my mouth when I chew.”

The words left her mouth with a hollow laugh. The words were cold, sharp enough to cut. Jamie looked at her, watching as the realisation of what she had said floated across her features, the lines between her eyebrows deepening. His hand couldn’t help but find hers across the table, a tacit agreement of his willingness to listen to whatever she wished to say.

“It’s strange when you come to these realisations of how different you’ve become. I thought I knew who I was. I had my degree and my job and my friends and I was Claire Randall, M.D. But he… took little bits of me, chipped away until I didn’t recognise myself. And then all of a sudden I was Mrs Claire Randall, the professor’s wife. He controlled everything. It was never as obvious as telling me what to wear or what to eat but he would punish me if I got it wrong, embarrassed him somehow. Never violent but mean.”

Jamie might’ve thought she had forgotten that he was in the room with her if she hadn’t been squeezing his hand tighter and tighter as the words poured out. Claire’s eyes glazed with tears as she stared at the table, her face blank of emotion.

“He could be so cruel,” she whispered, her breath catching in her throat.

There was a thousand things he wanted to say. Wanted to curse the bones of Frank Randall, to lay a kiss on every scar that he’d placed on this beautiful woman’s soul. But instead of ire and rage, the simplest words came out.

“Christ, yer a brave wee thing.”

“I’m exhausted, I think I’ll go to bed. Leave the dishes and I’ll do them in the morning.”

“Dinna be daft, Sassenach. I said whatever you need and I meant it. Go and rest. I’ll take care of everything else.”

Bran, in his new role as Claire’s sentinel, followed her as she left the kitchen and made her way up to her bedroom. Jamie sat for a minute, took a deep breath and got up to set himself to the dishes, the methodical work calming his thoughts that threatened to overwhelm him.

His time with Dr Duncan had taught him that regret was a useless tool, taking up space in his memories without offering any opportunity for clarity or closure. But he still felt the fingers of it grip at his insides, wishing he could turn back time and be in the dingy little bar on the edge of campus all those years ago to tell Claire that the guy who hadn’t showed up for their date was nothing but trouble and would only end up doing her damage.

Jamie had also been taught not to speak ill of the dead but he supposed God might give him a pass when it came to Frank Randall and his slow, systematic destruction of not just another human being, but one he had sworn to love. Here Jamie was, obsessively going over everything he could think of to try and ease Claire’s pain, and the bastard had gotten off scot free.

When he finally finished tidying the kitchen and made sure all the doors were locked, Jamie sat on the sofa and lamented the hefty loss of his beloved dog on his chest. The compression helped to keep him grounded and he had once joked to Dr Duncan that he had no use of the weighted blanket that she had recommended while Bran was still around. Jamie mindlessly flicked through the channels once again, finding nothing of value to watch and yet somehow unable to conjure up the urge to lift his body from the cushions and take himself to bed. The clock on the mantel said that it was past midnight and yet his usual habit of being in bed and asleep by eleven was nowhere to be seen.

If he was being honest with himself, he knew exactly why he wasn’t able to close his eyes. There was an undercurrent of electricity that seemed to be running through him constantly with just the thought of Claire being separated from him by something as inconsequential as a staircase. He wondered how she was sleeping, if she was dreaming lovely things and making soft noises of contentment as she did. He was, of course, profoundly grateful that she felt safe in his home. But there was an ache in his heart at the thought of her leaving, and he hoped that that day would come later rather than sooner.

He laid his head back on the pillows behind him, closing his eyes as he let himself sink deeper into the sofa.

He couldn’t have had his eyes closed for longer than a few minutes when her honeyed voice made them bolt open again.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were still up.”

Claire stood at the foot of the stairs, swallowed up by an old Oxford jumper.

“Is that—?”

She blushed immediately, tugging at the hem.

“Sorry for lying to you when I told you I didn’t have it. I snuck it into my suitcase when you weren’t looking. Something from home.”

“Right,” Jamie replied simply, not sure how to take her confession of having something of his for all these years. And sleeping in it, no less.

He found himself recognising a wave of jealousy, envious of even the cotton that sat against her skin without him knowing.

“Is that your own?” she nodded at the whisky that sat in the glass he was holding against his knee.

“It is,” he smiled softly at her. “Want one?”

All of her breath seemed to leave her in one big gust, “God, yes.”

Jamie got to his feet and turned his back on her to grab a glass, hiding his fond smile to himself.

He poured a healthy dose of the amber liquid and Claire’s eyes widened.

“Christ, that’s more than enough,” she said, her hand hovering by the glass having made her way across to him without him hearing. Jamie felt suitably chastised at someone else recognising his larger than usual measures.

“Aye, the words ‘hoose pour’ have taken on new meaning in the past years. Still, I ken ye can handle yer liquor jus’ fine.”

She may have jumped slightly when their fingers touched as he handed her the glass but he put it to the back of his mind, gesturing to the sofa and watching as she settled into the groove that his much heavier body had made in the cushions.

The wood that was burning on the fire cracked and hissed as it settled against the wrought iron grate. Jamie watched the flames skate over the logs, unable to bring himself to look at the woman sat beside him.

“Slainté,” she smirked, clinking the glass against his. With a wry smile sent in reply, he watched as she took her first drink of his livelihood, his heartbeat speeding up as she swallowed with an imperceptible moan.

“Ye like it? It’s one of our oldest casks, the 8 year. We may still be a young company but—“

“It’s delicious, Jamie.”

The way the word left her mouth made his skin feel too tight and he cleared his throat, fighting against the adrenaline that wanted to surge up from the dead pit in his stomach.

“Aye, well, I’ll send ye home with a few bottles if ye think ye’d get them through Customs.”

There he went again, shooting himself in the foot with the mention of home. If it had upset her, she didn’t let on. Claire seemed to shake her head slightly before raising her chin and looking him in the eye, a small but genuine smile on her face.

“I don’t know if I’ve said thank you for letting me come here. But I want you to know how grateful I am. For your hospitality.”

“Dinna even think of it, Claire. Ye needed a place tae get away from everything and I’ve got the space tae spare.”

“Still, I appreciate it. I knew I needed to get out of Boston but I didn’t realise how much being out here would help.”

“Aye, the highlands are always a good place—“

“Not the highlands, Jamie. Here. At Lallybroch with you.”

He couldn’t stop himself from meeting her eyes, fierce solemnity burning in his.

“I just want to keep ye safe.”

“When I phoned you that night, I honestly didn’t know how you’d react. We hadn’t spoken in so long and had left things less than perfect. I should’ve phoned anyone else but the only voice I wanted to hear was yours,” she admitted. “To be honest, I thought you might’ve hung up on me or not taken the call at all. I thought you hated me.”

She had said the last words with a laugh but Jamie knew that she was hiding her discomfort behind an attempt at humour. She was being honest and he was too much of a coward to look her in the eye as he returned the favour, instead staring into the contents of the glass that he held between his hands.

“I did hate you for a long time, Claire. Almost as much as I loved you.”

Neither of them moved, barely took a breath as the words hung in the air between them. Jamie didn’t really know that he felt that way until the sentiment had left his lips. He was overcome with ways to explain that he didn’t mean it, although he did in some parts, but his brain was racing far too fast for his mouth to catch up.

In the end, it was Claire who broke the silence.

“And now?”

Her voice was quiet and small but Jamie was powerless to stop the cold laugh that left him. Without having to look, he knew it had made her wince.

“I think we both ken fine well that I shall love ye until the day I die. And after that. But I ken what it is tae live wi’out my heart and I am terrified that once ye leave here, I will never see ye again.”

“I wouldn’t do that—“

“But ye did. Ye have done it. Time and time again.”

He thought he’d see anger or guilt in Claire’s eyes but it looked as though she accepted his words as true, because they both knew that if they had woken up the morning after that first kiss and hadn’t laughed it off as a drunken mistake, he would’ve loved her for the rest of their days, if she had let him.

Claire unwrapped her legs from being crossed underneath her and got to her feet, immediately turning away from him. Calmly, she swallowed the remainder of her whisky, placed the glass on the fireplace and turned to face him, levelling him with a bold stare.

“You never told me, Jamie.”

The words bubbled up in his throat, desperate to tell her how wrong she was, but it only took another steely look from the love of his life to dispel them.

She needed him to listen and so he would.

“We had all these flirty moments from the minute we met and we were obviously attracted to each other but we never spoke about it, not truthfully. You never told me that you wanted to be with me. And then Frank came and Annaliese and… y-you didn’t say anything!”

“I thought it was obvious enough. I thought ye kent—“

“Of course I did!”

“Then why didn’t ye say somethin’?”

“Why didn’t you?!”

Her words crashed over him like ice. And for once, Jamie Fraser, as stubborn as he was smart, had no answer.

Claire looked frantic and began to pace in front of the fire, twisting her hands against one another. A bolt of lightning hit him when he realised that she was attempting to twist a wedding ring that no longer sat on the ring finger of her left hand.

He didn’t have time to wonder about when she’d taken it off, whether he could remember seeing it on her when she appeared, before she began to speak again.

“Jamie, every person I have ever loved and cherished has died. My parents, my uncle… they were the only family I had and they were gone until I met you. And you have to understand how terrified I was of losing you too! I couldn’t admit to myself that I was in love with you because I knew that I’d get a taste of heaven and then it would be snatched out from under me, as it always had been!”

Claire’s voice seemed to be tinged with hysteria as though she had opened the flood gates and was now being hit by torrent after torrent of feelings that had nowhere to flow but out into the world. Swearing off all pretense of propriety, her fingers wrapped around the neck of the bottle of Broch Mordha whisky that sat on the coffee table and with the dull thunk of the stopper, she raised it to her mouth.

Jamie couldn’t help himself. He had to ask.

“Was?”

The look on her face was murderous. So much so that for a moment he thought that she might throw the bottle at his head but instead she just spluttered incredulously.

“What?”

He just could not help himself. He needed to know.

“Ye said ye were in love wi' me then. What about now?”

“You can’t be serious!”

“And why no’?”

He would surely die if he didn’t know, if she didn’t tell him. The blinding hope was too much to bear.

Her eyes were wild, blazing so fiercely he thought he might go blind just from the sight of them.

“Jamie, look at me! I broke your heart, I ran across the world, I’m a fucking widow! I—”

“I have burned for ye for so long, d’ye not know that?”

The raw honesty in his voice was no shock to him but it stopped her in her tracks, mouth hanging open. Jamie noticed as she seemed to sway slightly on the spot, as though his confession had dealt a physical blow to her centre of gravity that caused her to rock backwards.

He pounced on the opportunity that her stunned silence allowed him and just told her the truth.

“I didna say it then but I’m sayin’ it now,” he closed the gap between them, bringing his large hands up to cup her face as her eyes fluttered closed.

Leaning in, almost touching his lips to hers, he could taste her breath on his tongue. Claire’s eyes were still closed but the space between her eyebrows was furrowed, almost as if she was in pain.

Before he kissed her, he tried to say it as plainly as he could.

“Your face is my heart, Sassenach, and the love of you is my soul.”

Not unlike the nature of a crashing wave, there was an inevitability when their lips met. Jamie felt her fingers fist themselves in the material of his cotton shirt as Claire pulled him closer, crashing his body against her own as her tongue licked along his lower lip. He could still feel the delicate bones of her face burning through to the palms of his hands but he needed her closer, firmer, and so he moved one hand down, lightly grasping the column of her neck while his other lost itself in her hair. Her whimpers filled his mouth as he moved her, tilting her face up with a gentle tug on her curls and sliding his tongue into her mouth, licking desperately to find her own.

He spun them then, pushing her onto the sofa and getting to his knees between her splayed legs, pulling their chests close as they continued to kiss. His hands ran up the lengths of her thighs and grabbed at her hips, quickly pulling forward to quell the urgent fear of being physically distant from her. Jamie could barely tell which way was up, he was so overwhelmed with feelings and thoughts and Claire’s words telling him everything she’d never allowed herself to say, not to mention the whisky.

Fuck. The whisky.

“Claire- Claire, stop,” he panted as he pushed his forehead against hers, watching as she gasped for her breath. “We canna.”

Jamie watched as her mouth opened and shut in quick succession, panic painting her features and making his stomach twist in regret.

“Christ, no, Claire, I dinna mean that. I’ve thought about doing that every day since I clapped eyes on ye. It just can’t be right now.”

He got to his feet and scrubbed his face with his hands, his lower lip being pulled by his thumb and forefinger as he gave in to the urge to drag his tongue across it, hoping to catch a taste of her. He didn't miss the way her eyes widened at the sight of it.

“Not right now? Then when?” she choked out in a shaky voice.

“When neither of us have whisky on our breath and our emotions are running high,” he told her, moving to pull her to her feet in front of him.

He pressed his lips to her forehead.

“Go to bed, Sassenach. Sleep and—“

“Sleep?!”

“Aye,” he smirked at her, despite his best efforts. “Sleep. Think on the things that we’ve said to each other and in the morning we can talk about it. I’ve lost ye once before and I’ll no’ do it again because we’re both caught up in each other and nae in our right minds. I don’t think I could survive it if something happened and ye woke up in the morning wi’ regret. But I’ll say this to you, Claire, before I send ye tae yer bed…”

Jamie leaned down and whispered into her ear, letting the smell of her hair fill his lungs and relishing the way that her breath was still uneven.

“I have loved ye for all these years and will love ye until time ends. Ye are made for me and I am made for ye. It’s always been forever for me, Sassenach,” he kissed the space on her neck just below her earlobe and felt her shiver.

“Goodnight, Claire.”

#light across the seas that severed #clan donnachaidh #ao3 #outlander fanfic #jamie fraser #Claire beauchamp #outlander #modern au

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