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 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).