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Jamie was slumped against the wall of his cell, the foul stench of urine and feces surrounding him as well as the many dirty old men who were imprisoned as well. He paid them no mind, just felt pity for their lives lost, their families.
He wondered if any of them had children? What did they think of their fathers? Bound to Versailles forevermore?
What would his bairn think of him? Would he think of him fondly? Would he know? Jamie started to smile a bit at the thought of a little boy, with his red curls and the fire of Claire in his eyes. Or a little girl with thick brown hair and his fondness for horses.
Christ,
he thought.
Claire.
His smile soon turned into a frown. Was she alright? Was their bairn alright? He wouldn’t know what to do if he lost either of them, or worse, both. God had blessed him with his Sassenach, and then again with their child. It would not be fair to take either of them away from him.
Would it?
He was already paying for his crimes. Or so he thought.
“James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser!” A voice with a strong French accent boomed, shaking Jamie from his thoughts, “a letter has arrived for you from L'Hopital!”
The hospital, Claire.
He jumped up and reached for it, tearing the envelope apart in less than a second, not even surprised by his sudden burst of energy.
Monsieur Fraser,
It is with deep sorrow and regret that I have to inform you that your wife Claire had a miscarriage. Your child was already gone by the time of its birth.
Claire is now recovering from the trauma, she will be back in good health in the following days. I wanted to write you this letter myself because I care for your wife deeply, and God will help her heal and hopefully He will help heal you too.
May God be with you always,
Mother Hildegarde.
He tightened his grip on the paper, his tears streaming down his face and smudging the ink so carefully placed upon it. He paid them no mind, he could feel his heart shattering into a million tiny pieces.
His child, gone. His bairn would never know his touch, or his name, and he would never know what it looked like. He never even got to hold him…her? Was it that far along? Would it have been a little boy with the red curls and fire in his eyes? Or a little girl with brown curls and who loves horses?
He couldn’t let himself take another breath without falling against the cold metal bars of the cell door, crying out for the child he lost, sobbing for his wife who was alone, and mentally hitting himself for the pain he had caused.
He deserved to be in this cold, dark cell. He would never see his Sorcha again.
What did Claire always say? Fuck?
Well,
he thought bitterly,
fuck Jack Randall, fuck Frank Randall, fuck James Fraser, and fuck God.
What good is God if he punishes the most beautiful, compassionate soul who ever lived? Why would He punish his Sassenach?
Jamie couldn’t help but clutch the paper to his chest, heavy sobs shaking it with every breath. He hit his head against the bars, desperate to feel anything but empty.
He started to think about that song Claire would sing to their bairn late at night as to calm it. It was from her time, a film, she called it. Their child was over the rainbow now, where troubles melt like lemon drops and blue birds fly.
But where was his beautiful Claire? Stuck in a hospital bed, alone, hurting, and without him.
He clasped his hands together and sent a silent message up to anyone who would listen.
Please,
he begged, eyes glued shut as hot tears spilled out beneath them ran down his face,
look after my wife. And to my family up in heaven, Father, Mam, Willie, look after my bairn. Love it in the afterlife. Love it over the rainbow wherever you may be.
But as darkness continued to loom over the cell and shadows consumed his cellmates, he opened his eyes and scoffed bitterly. No one would hear him. No one would listen. Nothing good could happen from praying to the Almighty or to dead relatives.
Because what good is praying if your faith is gone?