Chapter 15 - Revelations of the Bridal Chamber

First of all, I want to thank all of you for your patience while I have been "off-grid" for the past many days. Although not technologically off-grid, I have been mentally off-grid with a myriad of other life-necessities, a brief yet lingering illness, and other family commitments and responsibilities. It's true: real life trumps virtual life every time.

So...how 'bout them newlyweds?

Really, I have no idea where to go with this chapter. Really. Is it because of the bedroom scene? No, not especially. Actually, I think the whole thing is depicted with a light touch and a gentle sense of humor. Much less graphic than I expected. (Whew). What did surprise me, though, was how much hefty story and plot lines are drawn in to this first time that Claire and Jamie are together.

"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." 

How, indeed. Obviously, this is a rough summary of the book up to this point. This plot device is the pivot on which the whole book (and series, I suppose) turns. I like how the narration carries these logical suppositions and many times mirrors my own thoughts as I read the story. I suppose this is one of the reasons Diana is such a popular writer, to which her extremely dedicated and loyal fan base (that's you) readily attests.

The early embarrassment between them is palpable and is only broken by Claire's offer to have him sit down next to her. As he sits down instead on a stool across from her, he takes her hands in his and she notices how his hands are hairier than Franks. I kind of snickered at the insertion of the Old Testament passage about Jacob and Esau; not because it was entirely inappropriate (I mean, things pop into our minds from all sorts of triggers), but it made me think of the rest of that Bible story. When Jacob "stole" Esau's birthright, it turns out he tried to fool his dim-sighted father Isaac by wearing goat-skins over the backs of his hands to mimick Esau's hairiness. Goat skins. Umm, have you ever felt a goat at a petting zoo or farm? Esau had to be one hairy dude! Anyway, this is the image that popped into my mind when Claire made the reference: Jamie with goat-like hair on his hands and arms. Kinda ruined the moment, so to speak.

As if to tag on to that humorous image, then Jamie compares the unknown act to what animals on the farm do, and if that's the case it shouldn't take very long! From that perspective, I'm sure it would be true. His humorous imaginings were entertaining. I mean, if that's all you know or have seen, why would that not be the case?

Also, as if to make my earlier point about Claire not seeming to think much about Frank, even Jamie agrees with me! Jamie!

“Well, I knew ye must be thinking of him. Ye could hardly not, under the circumstances. I do not want ye ever to feel as though ye canna talk of him to me. Even though I’m your husband now—that feels verra strange to say—it isna right that ye should forget him, or even try to. If ye loved him, he must ha’ been a good man.” 

(Okay, I'm not really making that point, but he certainly does impress upon her the need for her to honor Frank's memory).

I think it is interesting too, that when Jamie offers to get Claire a real ring, she kind of brushes the thought away by consoling herself with ongoing thoughts about leaving this time and circumstance, including Jamie. Would her thoughts be changed after this chapter, or events yet to come? She still has a main objective through this onslaught of unusual events that has happened to her. If she ever does make it back to Frank, how complicated would that relationship now be?

I do like the little "private vow" they take to always make sure they never lie to each other.

 "...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. Do ye agree?” He spread his hands out, palms up, inviting me. I could see the dark line of the blood vow across his wrist. I placed my own hands lightly on his palms.
“Yes, I agree. I’ll give you honesty.” His fingers closed lightly about mine.

My wife and I have this same value (without the blood vow, though), and have made it the key value our kids have had to deal with as they've grown up. Once lies and deceit enter in, trust goes out the window; no healthy relationships can survive without trust. However, I did have to pause a moment as Jamie draws a distinction between not telling lies, yet leaving room for private secrets. Isn't a private secret kind of like a lie? After thinking about this for a bit, I concluded that as long as what is secret is not a violation of the person's revealed character (like, if Jamie turned out to secretly be an ax-murdering serial killer or something), then I suppose it would not violate the honesty rule. But I still think that is a very slippery slope that requires much mature thought and consideration.

“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 [Randall] willna lay hands on ye again, while I live.” 

Jamie's awkward Senior Class photo
and trophy for being most gallant guy, ever.

As Jamie pledges to protect her, even with his own body, Claire is reminded of infantrymen that she had encountered in field hospitals. I thought this was a great comparison for her character to draw seeing that Jamie is younger than she is, and has certainly seen his share of violence. This is a noble and gallant young man, indeed. Maybe a little too perfect. I'll have to keep my eye on him; he's raising the bar for men everywhere. Dangit.

Then, Claire makes the mistake of asking Jamie about his family. Whoa. Clan heritage is certainly an ongoing source of pride for Scots, even to this day. My wife showed me how there is a family tree in MOBY to help everyone keep things straight.

Okay, now I'm not sure if this is a guy thing or if it's just me, so I'll just throw it out there: while I understand that exponential characters are necessary in an epic of this size and scope, it's one of my least favorite parts of fiction reading. I don't like having to keep multitudes of characters and relationships in check every time new ones are brought in.

For example, since I am a fan of the science fiction series Dune by Frank Herbert, I struggled with that same factor in his universe. To top it off, his characters are spread out over several centuries and planets and have unusual alien names that are difficult to figure out how to pronounce, even mentally pronounce, if you know what I mean (although some of these Scottish names seem practically alien to a Northwestern 'Merican like me). Understandably, in sagas of this breadth, it is necessary to introduce additional characters as new adventures continue, but, for me, I dislike having to flip back and forth between chapters (or books) trying to remember who's who and keep everyone straight. Perhaps I just need to pay closer atten-squirrel! 

Little-known fact that Jamie is actually related to US President Barack Obama!

Of course, in this plot-rich section, we learn that Jamie still has rights to his father's estate at Broch Tuarach, or Lallybroch, even though he can't return because of the price on his head. After his tour of duty in the French army he returns to Scotland with a band of "broken men". Here again, the getting-hit-in-the-head-with-an-ax story resurfaces raising more questions for me, with further hints of foreshadowing, I'm sure.

His stay at the Abbey Ste. Anne de Beaupré certainly helps to explain Jamie's grasp of scripture. But France? That sure seems like a long and difficult way to transport someone who is injured so badly, especially in that day. How were they so successful at avoiding the English patrols with someone so badly wounded? They surely could not have made time very well, and with an invalid suffering a practically fatal head wound? Hmm.

Okay, well, moving from the unlikely to the...(ahem) inevitable, on we go to the um, other parts of this chapter.

Skim, skim, skim, - yes, it's funny how he is surprised that it's face to face.

Skim, skim, skim - "Haven't you seen a naked woman before?" "Aye, but not one so close...And not one that's mine."

Skim, skim, skim - "Hey lass! Ye’re still able t’ walk! Isn’t Jamie doin’ his duty by ye, then?"

Skim, skim, skim - what, three times!?

Skim, skim, skim - "“Oh, so there’s something you don’t know? Well, we’ll find out then, won’t we? As soon as I’ve the strength for it...Next week, sometime.”

Whew, made it! And it only took a few squinty-eyed pages and half a bottle of wine!

Okay, all kidding aside, the consummation of their marriage is dealt with in a lightly humorous, but meaningful way. Yes, Jamie is a gallant young man; yes, they are being drawn together by their mutually constricting circumstances; yes, there remain many questions from new information about family, property rights, and unknown dangers. But isn't this all just like...life? We all wonder about the unknown from the comfort of the known, and yet, in a true adventure, there is little that's familiar, which is why we cling tightly to that which we do know for sure. That's what makes it an adventure! Claire only knows that Jamie has been the one constant beacon of integrity and hope in a whirlwind of unusual circumstances and persons. These two characters are simply drawn together in the throes of an adventure with (to them, and me) unknown outcomes.

The logic of her circumstances catches up with Claire in the middle of the night...

I woke in the hours before dawn, shivering and rigid with terror. I could not recall the dream that woke me, but the abrupt plunge into reality was equally frightening. It had been possible to forget my situation for a time the night before, lost in the pleasures of newfound intimacy. Now I was alone, next to a sleeping stranger with whom my life was inextricably linked, adrift in a place filled with unseen threat.

Another masterfully-crafted vivid passage that clearly describes Claire's sobered perspective. But what better way could Jamie reassure her, than to comfort her with what's familiar: “Don’t be afraid,” he whispered into my hair. “There’s the two of us now.”

But among all of my other questions, one burning one remains: don't they realize that summer romances never last?  :)

Chapter 14 - A Marriage Takes Place

Once again, what strikes me about this chapter is its directness;  it moves from Claire's waking out of a hangover, to preparing for the wedding, to the wedding itself, swiftly and seamlessly. 

Also once again, new words unapologetically assault my understanding. A "ewer" and basin (a wide-mouthed pitcher for water); a "sempstress" (another word for seamstress, rather understandable, that one) and "serge" (describing her typical woollen fabric of her day to day clothing). Here are some snippets from this quickly moving narrative:

Claire describes her morning after the whiskey drinking:

I eased myself very carefully back down, closed my eyes and held onto my head to prevent it from rolling off the pillow and bouncing on the floor.

Ha. I remember a doozy of a hangover I once had after a night of (over)drinking after a military base command party many, many years ago. My problem was everything was spinning, and spinning: the room, the bed, the world. And the worst part was nothing would make it go away. Even my eyelashes hurt. My eyelashes. I wondered if anyone had ever died from a hangover.

"A bit later I sat on the bed, fully dressed, feeling dazed and belligerent, but thanks to a glass of port supplied by the goodwife, at least functional. I sipped carefully at a second glass, as the woman tugged a comb through the thickets of my hair."

The fact that she was supplied some port wine to offset her hangover made me think. The few times in my younger days where I may have "overindulged" I've never had additional alcohol the next day; in fact, that would be the last thing I would be willing to do. I know I've heard of "the hair o' the dog", but does that really work?

Dougal caught sight of me slowly descending, and abruptly stopped talking. The others fell silent as well, and I floated down in a most gratifying cloud of reverent admiration."

What a great visualization. The words just seem to conjure the image in real time as Claire, prepared for the wedding, now comes down the stairs, shockingly beautiful to those who have only seen her in her serge.

"Wherever we were going, it was some distance from the village. We made a rather morose wedding party, the bridal pair encircled by the others like convicts being escorted toward some distant prison."

This made me laugh, but also made a striking simile for how Claire must have felt. Prison. An unknown time, practical strangers all around, and here she is tending to one of life's most precious and rare moments with a man she hardly knows. Prison, indeed.

I'm sure this is exactly how Claire and Jamie
would have looked on their wedding day.
If Jamie was a 40-year old, Irish-bred actor from New York.
And if they were 500 years earlier.
And in the movie Braveheart.
Yup. Exactly like that.

"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."

Oh, no, she di'int. Really? Diana didn't just go there, did she? Yup. She did. Married in the same chapel as her wedding to Frank?

Ok, gang, this is where I'm havin a wee bit o' disagreement with me wife. Why the heck is Claire never thinking about Frank?! I mean, with the chapel and all, of course she's going to think about Frank, but he's rarely even mentioned in her thoughts up to this point. Here she is, in a strange time and society, undergoing all kinds of strange experiences and forging new and strained relationships, yet she never yearns for her Frank, for the familiar, for the constancy of that shared oneness. Here she is, separated from her husband, her true love, unless...unless, of course he isn't. Hmm. (No spoilers, please.)

“It’s a bit pagan, but it’s customary hereabouts to have a blood vow, along with the regular marriage service...‘Ye are Blood of my Blood, and Bone of my Bone. I give ye my Body, that we Two might be One. I give ye my Spirit, ’til our Life shall be Done.’"

A Celtic rite known typically as "handfasting"; it is still practiced in various forms among the Wiccans and nature religions (although not always with the actual blood-letting), and the chant of "blood of my blood, and bone of my bone." But even on it's surface, it can be seen that it is a corruption of the original in the book of Genesis:

Genesis 2:22-23 And the rib, which the LORD God had taken from man, made he a woman, and brought her unto the man. (23) And Adam said, This is now bone of my bones, and flesh of my flesh: she shall be called Woman, because she was taken out of Man.

Changing the "flesh of my flesh" into "blood of my blood" of course is necessary for the blood vow portion. However, it is indeed historically accurate for the time of Claire and Jamie. Technically, there is no specific biblical pattern anyway for what we would consider a typical wedding ritual. The rings, vows, and any other accouterments are all traditions of the distant past cultures that have been added over the years as couples have pledged their unity.

And then, as if a harbinger of things to come (of which I know you all are waiting with bated breath), Diana leaves us with this light-hearted couplet:

“Mmmphm. Aye, we’re married, right enough. But it’s no legally binding, ye know, until it’s been consummated.” A slow, fierce blush burned its way up from the lacy jabot.
“Mmmphm,” I said. “Let’s go and find something to eat.”

Well done, Claire. Some protein and carbs will serve ye weel for the comin' chapter...

Chapter 13 - A Marriage is Announced

Wow, what an interesting chapter. This one definitely runs the gamut from disorientation, to pain and suffering, to, well, let's just say unusually motivated legal agreements.

At first I couldn't figure out what Dougal was doing. Obviously he was taken aback by the bitter cruelty of Randall punching Claire. But why in the heck would he be taking Claire out into the the woods essentially to tell her the story about Jamie?

...hereabouts, ladies are generally not exposed to such sights as floggings. Have ye ever seen one?”"

No, nor do I much want to,” I responded sharply. “I can imagine what it would take to make marks like the ones on Jamie’s back, though.” 

Dougal shook his head, flipping water out of the pool at a curious jay that ventured close. “Now, there you’re wrong, lass, and you’ll pardon my saying so. Imagination is all verra well, but it isna equal to the sight of a man having his back laid open. A verra nasty thing—it’s meant to break a man, and most often it succeeds.”  

And on it goes; the nerve-wracking anticipation, the defiant endurance, all to demonstrate a wickedness in Randall that we could already guess at, but there it was, spelled out in all of its bloody cruelty for all to see. As profoundly moving and heroic as that story about Jamie being flogged was, it made no sense to me why Dougal was telling Claire all of that back story, until she asked him that very same question.

Everything was quiet in the small glade except for the faint rush of wind through the leaves of the rowan tree. I closed my eyes and listened to it for some time. “Why?” I asked finally, eyes still closed. “Why did you tell me?”

Dougal was watching me intently when I opened my eyes. I dipped a hand in the spring again, and applied the cool water to my temples. “I thought it might serve as what ye may call a character illustration,” he said.

"Of Randall?” I uttered a short, mirthless laugh. “I don’t need any further evidence as to his character, thank you.”

“Of Randall,” he agreed, “and Jamie too.”  

So here it comes: the Plan. In order to spare Claire from having to be delivered to this maniacal Randall, who now (and I'm sure in greater detail to come) is even more confirmedly wicked, Dougal suggests that she marry Jamie to become a Scot and avoid being handed over to his evilness. It keeps her safe and gets him off the hook for not delivering her, and Jamie...well, Jamie gets, y'know...Claire.

What?! Married?! Okay so let's just pause here for a moment and reflect. When you have finished pausing and reflecting, please come back and finish reading.

Are you done now? Okay, good. (If you did get a snack, be sure to clean your fingers so the keyboard and mouse don't get sticky).

So, if you remember, I originally agreed to read at least 200 pages of this book, for I was told by Debby Kennedy that by then I would be hooked. In good faith, not only did I commit to read the whole book, I also agreed to document my thoughts through each chapter. So, here I am, only a hundred and seventy-seven pages into this thing, and already Claire and Jamie are getting married!! I mean, in any other story, we're basically done! Just get Claire back to the stones, a heart-breaking scene where she can no longer stay with Jamie who rescued her from the evil Randall, and be sucked back through the time-hole thing to be reunited with her true husband Frank, only to reminisce longingly about her adventures in the 18th century, where, as the story closes, now in her old age, Frank has died, and in a fit of aged introspection she travels back to Craigh na Dunh only to find a now-ancient carving of Jamie's undying love for her for all time, aaaaaaand fade to black. End of story.

Yeah. Not with Diana. I can see how this is going to go. This is why she couldn't sell the movie rights to just have this story be a 2-1/2 hour movie, because we're already there, done! The whole story up to this point is a complete whole (with the modified, truncated ending, of course).

Um, I'm pretty sure with 7 more books already written (who knows how many more on the way), Diana's just getting warmed up. At this point in this first book, she hasn't even gone through her first bottle of Rhenish yet. With all of the background and history groundwork already laid, this story still has a million places to go. It's just like my eight-year-old daughter's really long feet; she's got to grow into them.

So, after all the wrangling that Dougal has done, they draw up the paperwork with the help of Ned Gowan:

...Dougal removed a chamber pot from its resting place on the table and fanned the sheets of paper out ceremoniously on the rough oak surface. “All done,” he said, with the pride of one who has shepherded a difficult project to a successful conclusion. “Ned’s drawn up the papers; nothing like a lawyer—so long as he’s on your side, eh, Ned?” 

The men all laughed, evidently in good humor. 

"Not really difficult, ye ken,” Ned said modestly. “It’s but a simple contract.”

A simple contract, yes, but a massive shift in the plot of the story, to be sure. Of course, Jamie's response to all of this Plan is just priceless:

“Did you know that Dougal wants us to marry?” I demanded bluntly.

His expression cleared. “Oh, aye. I knew that.”

"But surely,” I said, “a young man like yourself; I mean, isn’t there anyone else you’re, ah, interested in?”

He looked blank for a moment, then understanding dawned. “Oh, am I promised? Nay, I’m no much of a prospect for a girl.” He hurried on, as though feeling this might sound insulting. “I mean, I’ve no property to speak of, and nothing more than a soldier’s pay to live on.” He rubbed his chin, eyeing me dubiously. “Then there’s the minor difficulty that I’ve a price on my head. No father much wants his daughter married to a man as may be arrested and hanged any time. Did ye think of that?”

I flapped my hand, dismissing the matter of outlawry as a minor consideration, compared to the whole monstrous idea. I had one last try.“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.

The door closed softly behind him; clearly the courtship was over.

What more can be said to that wonderful exchange? On to the wedding!

Chapter 12 - The Garrison Commander

I liked Claire's ponderings at the opening of this chapter. It helps me keep my bearings in the story as the plots begin to thicken and intertwine. One of my favorite aspects of good literature is to see inside the characters' heads so I can know not only what they're doing, but why they are making the choices they are. This is a little more difficult to accomplish with TV and movies, though, so it will be interesting to see how this  is carried off in the production.

As Claire considers her various options and opinions about who others think she might be, she begins to wonder if Column actually considered her to be a spy for the English, or not:

...I was patently not a Scot myself; surely he [the garrison commander] would not be inclined to think me a spy of some sort? That was evidently what Colum and Dougal thought—that I was an English spy. Which made me wonder what I was 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? He could easily enough have sent me outside before that part of the proceedings. 

These definitely are some of the thoughts I considered about her predicament, as well. I also reasoned that if Colum really thought she was a spy, he had been pretty free with her seeing the inner workings at the castle. 

Probably a staircase similar to this
where Jamie tried to sneak and sleep

As they journeyed to the inn at the village, I was struck with the stark baseness of 18th century life; the unsanitary conditions in her "room" if you could call it that, the need for a flint-box and candle, fumbling around in the dark, all very genuine for something as simple as trying to get a good night's sleep. Although, when her intruder tried to sneak upstairs, I did feel it was a little predictable that it would be Jamie.

What it did remind me of, though, is that there have been many times that I have tried to be quiet early in the morning getting ready for work, when invariably I will step on every squeaky floorboard or trip on the unexpected toy left in the hallway. Do you know how screechingly loud a bureau drawer can be when you are trying so hard to open it silently? Why is it that when you are trying to stay quiet that the simplest task makes the most excruciatingly loud noises that would otherwise be unnoticed during the day? It's like trying to open up a cellophane candy mint in church; who ever knew those things made that much noise?

 As to why Jamie would be up there, well, my first thought, actually, was one that Jamie voiced about wanting to stay away from the English.

“It isna entirely disintested kindness on my part, ye ken,” he observed. “I’d as soon avoid notice myself.” I had forgotten that he had his own reasons for keeping away from English soldiery. It did not escape me, however, that this could have been much better accomplished, not to say more comfortably, by his sleeping in the warm and airy stables, rather than on the floor before my door. “But if anyone does come up here,” I protested, “they’ll find you then.”

It made sense to me that he wouldn't want to be seen by them, for sure. But the mix up regarding the propriety of Jamie spending the night in her room as a guard was mildly amusing.

“Won’t they wonder, though, what you’re doing up here in the dark?” I could see nothing of his face, but the tone of his voice told me he was smiling. “Not at all, Sassenach. They’ll just think I’m waiting my turn.” I laughed and went in then. I curled myself on the bed and went to sleep, marveling at the mind that could make such ribald jokes even as it recoiled at the thought of sleeping in the same room with me.

Okay, then, the next day, Claire is brought before the garrison commander. Randall?! Seriously, I did NOT see that coming. I probably should have, but I think I was too busy trying to figure out how Dougal was going to try to expose her as a spy and I wasn't sure what he was up to. In the end everyone's motives become clear enough.

He drew back his arm and hit me in the pit of the stomach. I made no noise, because I had no breath. I sat on the floor, doubled over, struggling to draw air into my lungs. I was shocked far beyond the actual pain of the blow, which was beginning to make itself felt, along with a wave of giddy sickness. In a fairly eventful life, no one had ever purposely struck me before.

Wow. Did this strike anybody else as being absolutely repulsive? Certainly, if you want to have a main character become really despicable, have him punch a woman. Full force. In the pit of the stomach. Oh, and then have him say: “I trust you are not with child, Madam...because if you are, you won’t be for long.” *Shudder* I'm sure there's more to come.

One funny thing I read about Diana is how she was with a group of women who were commiserating with each other at how absolutely heinous they thought Jack Randall was, and then she thought to herself: "If they only knew; I am Jack Randall." Ha. Brilliant.

Could this be Frank's alter-ego
in the monster world?

Then, a new thought occurred to me: why is it that the bad guy is named Randall? Could it have anything to do with the kids movie Monsters Inc.? Think about it; the bad guy in that story was also called Randall (voiced by Steve Buscemi, my wife's OTHER favorite Steve). Coincidence?

Let's see, if the character association works out, that would make Sully Jamie, and Mike Wazowski, well, he would have to be Claire. But that means that Sully and Mike Wazowski would have to...um, ok, maybe it doesn't work.

But you get the idea: Randalls of all kinds should most likely be avoided, just in case.

Chapter 11 - Conversations with a Lawyer

There are some favorite quotes, and some new words that I learned in this chapter.

As they head out from the castle towards Fort William, the day is bleak and shrouded in fog:

The noise of the horses’ hooves seemed muffled in the fog. Voices carried strangely through the damp air, so that calls from one end of the long string were sometimes heard easily at the other, while the sounds of nearby conversations were lost in broken murmurs. It was like riding through a vapor peopled by ghosts. Disembodied voices floated in the air, speaking far away, then remarkably near at hand.

This is the strange quality of fog. It muffles sounds and limits visibility. In fact, I'm surprised that the smell of fog wan't mentioned. You've never smelled fog? It's sort of a damp, fresh, clean, invigorating jolt when inhaled deeply. I love it. Where I live, we frequently have fog in the seasonal change between summer and autumn, and the fog lies low over the ground early in the morning, and then typically burns off by mid-morning.

I remember where I grew up that sometimes the fog would come in so thick, that it was literally impossible to see your hand in front of your face. Walking our long driveway to school on one occasion, I held my black-gloved hand within 12" of my face and I was absolutely unable to see it. Even as young as I was, 10 or 11 years old, I remember laughing to myself how that saying could actually be true. The description here in the story is equally vivid: "It was like riding through a vapor peopled by ghosts." What a great simile to convey the distinct nature of the riding group; on a single journey but with, as we soon find out, veiled objectives.

The picture of Ned Gowan, the lawyer/solicitor, is one of classic 18th-century, bookish clerk-type; and, yet there is a sense of something more.

I was quite curious to know what had led a man of Mr. Gowan’s obvious qualifications to take up a post in the remote Scottish Highlands, far from the amenities of civilized life to which he must be accustomed.

"Well, as to that,” he said, in answer to my questions, “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.

He had purchased a horse and some supplies and set off, with no idea where he was going, or what to do once he got there. “Ye see, I must confess,” he said, dabbing his nose primly with a monogrammed handkerchief, “to something of a taste for…adventure. However, neither my stature nor my family background had fitted me for the life of highwayman or seafarer, which were the most adventurous occupations I could envision at the time."

This appears to be a little out of character for someone who in all other respects appears quite clinical and calculating. But, as usual, it seems that Diana anticipates this view by having Claire recount that "...the little man on the bay mare, dry as his bones might be, and steeped to the marrow in the law, had by his own testimony the soul of a romantic." So there it is; the wanderlust in all of us come to fruition in the business-like mannerisms of one Mr. Ned Gowan. (Wow, kinda sounds like I've got the whole Rod Serling/Twilight Zone thing going on there).

One of my new words is found here:

"Dougal might have been made chief at the time, but ’twas felt he’d not the judgment for it yet.” He shook his head. “Oh, there was a great stramash about it all. There were cousins and uncles and tacksmen, and a great Gathering to decide the matter.”

"Stramash": a row or uproar. Great word. We have those all the time at work. At least now I know what to call it besides "arguing".

Ned continues discussing various topics with Claire, and she recounts:

We passed the rest of the day in pleasant conversation, wandering among his reminiscences 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.

What beautiful imagery to convey the ruggedness, idealism, and conservative nature of the Highland clansmen. In one sentence a volume of information is passed to us to understand the deep roots of nationalistic pride that beat within the heart of every true-blooded Scotsman in the MacKenzie clan.

We soon come to find out why Jamie was invited on the rent-collecting expedition, as he is proffered as an exhibit of English cruelty which is designed to cause the country farmers to contribute financially to the Jacobite rising. So now a larger picture is emerging; one of political instability, intrigue, and recognition.

Another new word comes to my ears among the descriptions of the country folk: crofter. Not having experienced this term, a quick search reveals that a crofter is one who works a plot of land, typically in the service of the feudal lord or "laird". Hmm...just like me and the IRS today.

One of the more interesting terms I ran across was the sgian dhu (which appears to be pronounced SKEEan doo, please correct me if someone has a different understanding), the ceremonial knife carried in the stocking of traditional clansman. Besides the knife, there are so many traditions associated with the regalia that I was detoured a bit with my own research into the history of this small knife and the variations depending on clan, etc. I even found a site that is all about kilts (and shares once and for all what men really wear underneath them) which can be found here.

I really enjoyed Claire's little detour in her mind considering the significance of the stones:

...the spot would have been one of terrible mystery and powerful magic; a spot where people would have disappeared without warning. Or appeared, perhaps, out of thin air.

This whole logical-consequence-imagining of Claire was very interesting to me in the sense of where the story may take us. This aligns neatly with legends and fairy tales and anchors the story firmly in legends. This is a very powerful literary device and, to my way of thinking, gives the Outlander story the mythic fuel it needs to outlive its current generation.

Interrupting her thoughts, Dougal and Jamie have an argument regarding the ethics of Dougal's agenda to leverage Colum's authority for support of the Stuart rebellion. The exchange is edged with tension, as Dougal challenges Jamie's allegiance:

"Your obedience is to the chieftain of the clan, and outside of Leoch, I am Colum's head and arms and hands as well as his legs."
"And never saw I a better case of the right hand not knowin' what the left is up to," came the quick rejoinder..."What d'ye think the right is going to say about the left collecting gold for the Stuarts?"

Jamie's response is sharp and witty, and once again, another reference that has a foundation in scripture. The original context applies to money that is given to the poor, not financing a war-chest:

Matt. 6:3-4  But when thou doest alms, let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth: That thine alms may be in secret: and thy Father which seeth in secret himself shall reward thee openly.

Whether intentional or not, the irony of using that reference in the context of war and rebellion had impact on me. While it was explained earlier in the story that Jamie lived at a monastery for four months which cured him of his swearing, I suppose he could have picked up a couple of Bible passages here and there. For the common rural clansman of the day, though, quoting scripture might not come as easily since printed Bibles were not something as readily available as we have in this day and age; a reference like that might be a bit more obscure.

I did enjoy the brief sword fighting lesson Jamie shared with Claire; now I have some tactics I can use in my next broadsword fight at work. (I'm sure they'll never expect me to use a left-handed sgian dhu to gain the advantage).