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Gone – Final Chapter!

« Picking himself up off the floor of the bath room, Randall’s soul broke. Its miserable shards howled in his chest. He had been denied his heavenly consolation. »

Here is my Outlander fanfiction. Tonight’s pairing is Black Jack Randall/OC. The following story may be TRIGGERING to some because of mentions of rape, incest, graphic sex and drug abuse. Viewer discretion is advised.

Chapter 31 – Pain and hurt 

Picking himself up off the floor of the bath room, Randall’s soul broke. Its miserable shards howled in his chest. He had been denied his heavenly consolation. Sweet Andrea, beautiful Andrea had rejected his all of his advances. 

She had seen him naked. They had shared intimacy together. His heart was beyond aching, it threatened to tear itself to shreds. 

Laying in his bed that night, after downing an entire bottle of whisky, his mind traveled to dark places he had not been to in a while. 

Alex… 

Beautiful, sweet Alex. Alex who would never betray him or reject him. Randall lay there realizing that even if he forced Alex to lie with him, Alex would most certainly still love him. 

The darkness swirled, consuming him. To hell with his friendship with that miserable cow! May she burn forever. She had denied him his peace. Now, Randall knew for certain that God had sent him that woman to toy with him.  

As the whisky’s effects took over, Randall had the most terrible dreams against his brother’s person. So frightening, that when he awoke the next morning, he immediately went to seek solace in the arms of Father Bain. Father Bain! 

After that, Randall refused to so much cast a glance in Madam Jackson’s direction.  

To hell with her.  

To hell with her.  

Gone – Chapter 30

« In the winter, when soldiers go off to war, Randall sent Hawkins out and the whole company… »

Here is my Outlander fanfiction. Tonight’s pairing is Black Jack Randall/OC. The following story may be TRIGGERING to some because of mentions of rape, incest, graphic sex and drug abuse. Viewer discretion is advised.

Chapter 30 – David and Bathsheba

In the winter, when soldiers go off to war, Randall sent Hawkins out and the whole company.  

Instead of keeping the peace, which is what his duties entailed, Randall stood on his balcony. He stared down at the pimpled woman who was laughing and joking – no doubt with her youthful lover, unless his eyes were deceiving him, which they rarely did.  

He did not clench the stone rail in frustration, nor did he let his seething hatred for the two of them show. Why waste his time on a situation which could be easily solved with a little biblical wisdom, since that was the single source of wisdom which appealed to the whore in question. He did not shout at the boy below, no, he would proceed with the utmost care and decency. Randall exited his office, calmly marched down several flights of stairs, walked over to the obscene pair -did the woman have no shame?- and ordered Kendall to prepare his horse. 

If one is to win a party over, they must be careful with their words and with their actions – is that not what the good Father had counseled? Advice which, if he did say so himself, had been worth its weight in the Crown Jewels. 

Andrea and he exchanged pleasantries. He observed her face and eyes, attempting to deduce the slightest hint of carnal interest for Kendall. He conversed with her, waiting for the boy to bring him his mount.  

Nervous steps grated against the stone floor of the chapel, making him wince. Assuredly, the Scots had been placed on this earth to torment him. What other purpose did they serve? It was not as if he had not tried to find some redeeming aspect to their character. If only they were aware of the innumerable hours he had spent pouring over their literature and reading their supposed history. 

Father Anselm stepped into the chapel, “Ah Captain, how goes the war?” 

He resisted the urge to strangle the man to death and smiled, graciously, “The war, Father?” 

“With Madam And-rah-yah,” the Father chortled, “Forgive me, Captain, but considering our last meeting, I’d be surprised if you came to see me for any other reason?” 

Randall put on an expression of feigned sorrow. “Do you think so little of me, Father?” 

The older man smirked, “I have very few things with which to teach you, or anyone for that matter, Sir. And, if you don’t mind my saying so, I don’t suppose you want my advice on gardening or herbal remedies. And again, if you don’t mind my saying so, you are not a man who regularly seeks out spiritual counsel.” 

“Why Father, does this mean you will no longer plead my cause before the Lord?” 

“Oh, I gave up on you months ago,” Anselm chortled, then, remembering to whom he was speaking, added, “That was said in-” 

Randall smiled, too kindly, “I will remember that.” 

 “Father,” he started slowly, deliberately choosing the words which he knew would grant him the most favorable response, “I am in an awful predicament.” 

“You need to stop feeling sorry for yourself,” Anselm breathed. 

The good Captain became annoyed at the remark. 

“You need to think on the good gifts God has given you.” 

“What gifts prey tell are those?” 

“Most men in your position would feel very satisfied to have such a welcome distraction.” 

“A distraction? You mean…” 

“Precisely, Captain, Madam Jackson.” 

Captain Randall paused to think a while. Had he been ungrateful? 

In his mind, he thought that he had been the one who was being generous with God. It never had occurred to him that in fact, God had been generous with him. 

Madam Jackson. A distraction she was. But unwelcome? No, not entirely. Fear gripped him, plunging him into desperateness. Suddenly, his heart began to change from his brother and crept towards Madam Jackson. 

The companion he had asked for. 

Leaning back against the wall of the dimly lit chapel, Randall’s world began to crumble at the seams. He had seen Madam Jackson as a punishment, a reminder of his failings. But was she more than that? 

They were growing closer and he was growing fonder of her, of that there could be no denying. He did not feel as though they could be considered lovers, but almost close friends, one could say. 

It seemed as though his Maker was leading him away from darkness and into light. And that light might be found in the arms of Madam Jackson. 

In his head, Randall immediately set to work preparing a plan. The plan to win Madam Jackson. 

*** 

Ever have one of those days when your roommate ditches you when it comes time to muck the stables? 

Being confined to barracks was bad enough, but the list of chores Randall had left behind were meant to break both of us.  

Apparently, before riding off, Randall had slipped Kendall a note which told Kendall what he was supposed to do before the Captain’s return. However, and as I told Kendall, my name was nowhere on that list.  

That statement earned me a lecture on sloth.  

Friggin’ roommate, using my own Catholic guilt against me. 

That’s how I got roped into making the Captain’s bed, organizing the Captain’s paperwork, polishing the Captain’s other pair of boots, washing and drying the Captain’s shirt…  

My roommate was supposed to go and get another shovel to help me muck out the stables. Note the words “supposed to”. He’d been gone for at least an hour.  

I left the stables and looked out at the fort. Only a small detail had been left behind. Hawkins and the others wouldn’t be back for at least another forty-eight hours.  

Randall had said that my presence was needed to guard the fort. My foot! I was needed to stay at home and babysit Kendall and the others! 

Where was our fearless leader anyways?  

Great. Now Randall was off riding in the Scottish Highlands. My Mackenzie senses are tingling… 

Relax. Breathe deeply. If he wants to make himself an easy target, that’s his problem, not yours. You can’t be held responsible for the clans dividing his corpse among themselves and mounting his head on a pike.  

“AJAAAAAAAAAY!”  

Kendall ran towards me, panting.  

My arms folded, “Well, hello, there, Kendall. How are you?”  

He stopped barely a few inches from my face. He then fell over and crumpled up on the ground.  

Two soldiers by the gate started laughing.   

“Hey, shut up!” I yelled.  

The laughing stopped.  

“As I was saying, where were you? I’ve been mucking the stables for over an hour, by myself.” 

He tried to pull himself up, “I am so…I am so…I am so…” He was gasping for air.  

I gave him my hand and pulled him to his feet. He thanked me by falling into my chest and awkwardly hugging me for support. 

“You know,” I teased, “People will talk.” 

I could feel the smile next to my shoulder. “I am sor-ry,” he wheezed, “I tried to return to the stables as fast as I could.” 

“What happened?” 

“Randall-” 

I could just imagine what had kept him.  

“He did not-” 

I huffed, “There’s no shame in admitting he hurt you.”  

“He did not harm me,” Kendall stated. I couldn’t hear any hurt or pain, so I believed him.  

Kendall slowly moved away from my body. “He asked me to complete a few small tasks. That is why I did not immediately return.”  

That would explain the hold up.  

I smiled, “Apology accepted.” I held out my hand and we shook on it. Then, a small frown sprouted on my roommate’s face.  

“There’s something else, isn’t there?” 

Kendall looked like he was about to say something, but then he stopped himself and turned away from my face.  

“What is it now? What did Randall do?” 

Kendall shook his head, “It does not concern us. We should-” 

“Did you see him with Sadie?” I was already picturing a thousand twisted scenarios in my head, each one of them featuring Randall doing some unspeakable thing to the people I’d met during my time here.  

“One of the soldiers?”  

Kendall started to walk away from me.  

“Agnes?” 

He started walking faster.  

I followed. “A prisoner?” 

He broke out into a run. 

I caught him, “Answer me!”  “You’re scared of him. I get that. But you don’t have to-” 

“Yes, I have good reason to be frightened of him!” His eyes were burning with rage, “Despite your best efforts, AJ, I am still weak. For you, there are no repercussions for your actions, you are your own master-” 

“That’s not true and you know it.” 

“Perhaps.” 

 “Look, Kendall I-” 

“AJ! AJ! AJ!”  

That was the sound of a very worried Sadie.  

Kendall brushed past me, probably returning to the stables. Sadie huffed and puffed up to me. Then she stopped and turned around, saying, in the what had to be the loudest and whiniest voice possible. “Oh m’am, ya help is needed in de kitchen. Dat fool Agnes don’ know what to do. I sure could use ya guidance on dis one.”  

I cringed inwardly. 

Sadie led me by the hand into the fort, then she went straight up to my room.  

’E back and ‘e up to no good, darling.” 

“So I heard.” 

“’eard?” 

“Kendall told me.”  

“That boy should keep ‘is mouth shut, if ‘e knows what good for ‘im.” 

“Yeah, I know. What’s wrong?” 

“Darling, I don’t know what’s going on, but the Captain, ‘es up to something. ‘e told me to come ‘elp you, and I was coming-” 

“Don’t worry about it, Sadie, you’ve got other things to do.” 

Sadie sighed, “Two of the men tried to play with me. Don’t worry, three strikes with a broom and a flash of a knife, they changed their minds. They didn’t touch me.” 

“Which two?” 

“Don’t worry, I’ll show you their bunk later. As I was saying, the Captain-”  

I was getting pretty tired of all the mystery, “Yeah, what?” 

“I don’t know what ‘e up to.” 

I couldn’t get mad at Sadie, it wasn’t her fault. If she stuck around too long and poked her nose into Randall’s business, he’d whip her for sure. She was risking her life even mentioning it to me.  

“Now,” Sadie continued, “I’m not going to tell you where ‘e was and I’m not going to tell you who ‘e was with. All I’m going to say is that-” 

“Be on the lookout and we never had this conversation?” 

“Say what?” 

“Right. Thanks.” 

Sadie gave me a half-smile, “If you need anything…” 

I turned away, pretending to look for something on the floor, “Yeah, I know.” My gaze didn’t leave the floorboards until I heard the door shut.  

I couldn’t give her what she wanted. Sure, she was a woman and I was a woman, the attraction should have been mutual.  

It wasn’t so much that God wouldn’t let me have this, so much as…Well, I wasn’t attracted to her.  

Now, Laoghaire, on the other hand- 

I slapped myself. Bad thoughts, bad thoughts, bad thoughts, go away in Jesus’ name! 

Looking out the window, my thoughts traveled back to Sadie. She loved me, or, at least she said she did. Maybe I didn’t feel anything for her because she was a slave, and by the Grace of God I knew better than to take advantage of somebody in that situation.  

Maybe Sadie didn’t even really love me, maybe she was just used to taking whatever she could get. I smiled; now that was a feeling I could relate to. I’d been down that road with Yuri, except I knew when to cut my losses and move on.  

As my mind traveled back through the past, it hit me…Was it because of Nyala?  

My heart squeezed. Now there was someone I didn’t want to waste time thinking about. Besides, I’d like to think that my non-attraction was a gift from God, what with Sadie living next to me. I stopped myself from going down that road completely. Sadie wasn’t Nyala.  

I put myself on time out.  

Not all black non-straight women are the same. Stop being such a racist. Do you even hear yourself? How could you even think that? What is wrong with you? 

I tried to distract myself. Think about chores, think about keeping your sanity and keeping the cabin fever out. Stay busy. Stay focused. Go back to helping Kendall finish his chores or Black Jack will flay the living daylights out of him.  

“AJ, a word?” The door opened and Agnes came into the room.   

What was it now… 

“AJ, ooh, AJ, it must’ve slipped my mind entirely.”   

“Just tell me, Agnes.”  

“Lord Thomas-” 

That got my attention. Lord Thomas was here? That would explain why I hadn’t seen Randall at all since he came back.  

“It’s a little funny, actually. Lord Thomas asked me to help him bathe. But…”  

Agnes looked down and to the side.  

I nodded. Lord Thomas wasn’t the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree, but he was still a man of his time period. He might not be above trying to get a little action. And knowing Agnes, she wouldn’t exactly be able to talk herself out of that situation. And if he tried to force her -which, don’t get me wrong, I couldn’t actually picture him doing that- it seemed unlikely that she would be able to fight him off.  

“Look,” I said, “You stick with Sadie in the kitchen. I’ll worry about Lord Thomas.” 

He’d think twice before propositioning me. Besides, naked men had no effect on me. No temptation there.  

Agnes raised her head, joy shining in her eyes.  

 “You’ll need to be at the inn by nine,” she added, nervously.  

I blinked.  

“The General is staying in Randall’s quarters.”  

Well, I guess being Randall’s commanding officer had its perks.  

“One question,” I said. Agnes’ stiffened.  

“Where do we keep the tub?” 

Agnes left me to drag the wooden bathtub up to Randall’s rooms. The tub itself looked like it had never been touched. The wood was smooth, polished and soft. It was almost as tall as Randall, but its middle was small enough that I could wrap my arms around it, which helped, when it came time to carry it up the staircase.  

I took a deep breath, trying to pace myself up the stairs -I hadn’t even gotten to the buckets of water yet.      

After an hour of climbing and heaving, the bathtub finally made it to Randall’s rooms. The General wasn’t in sight, so, I knocked on Randall’s bedroom door. 

To my surprise, Randall opened it.  

I straightened my back, “I’m sorry to disturb you, Captain.” 

“Madam Jackson.” 

I smiled, “I’m here to deliver a tub.” 

He smiled back, a little too nicely, “Yes. Would you be so kind as to place it in the room next to mine?” 

“Sure.”  

He then shut the door in my face.  

My guess was that the General was staying in the rooms next to his bedroom. I opened the door to the second room and slid the tub through its wide opening.  

The room itself was large and mostly bare. There was a small table on the back wall that carried a white pitcher and a white basin. Beside it, there was another small table filled with seven thick towels. I opened the drawer of the second table and found two small washcloths tucked inside. To my right, was a large fireplace (almost as big as the one in the kitchen) and a small cauldron hanging from a long, sturdy stand. On the left side of the room, on the wall, were five metal candle holders, with five pillar candles. The holders weren’t placed high on the wall, like in other rooms I’d seen in the fort, but closer to the floor. 

Weird.        

At the back, behind the two tables, were two small windows. At the base of each window, was another candle holder, with another pillar candle, making for a total of seven candles in all.    

I pulled the bathtub into the middle of the room. Then, I looked at the size of the bathtub and looked at the cauldron; I was going to need to fill at least eight buckets with water. I’d also need to borrow another small Cauldron from the kitchen -there was at least room for two of them on the stand- to double my water-heating efforts. 

I felt a wave of nausea come over me. I’d need to lie down for an hour before I could do anymore work. Otherwise, my heart would start acting up again.  

I slowly moved towards the door, down the hall and to the top of the stairs. When I got to the next floor down, I asked two soldiers in the hallway for the time.  

Half-past five. Three and a half hours to go.  

It would be another thirty minutes walk before I could lay down. I winced. Forget the nap, I still had to get changed. (There way no way in hay the General would be able to tolerate being bathed by such a “dirty” person.)  

I walked back to the fort and I pulled out my dress. To wear the corset or ditch it, that is the question.  

I crossed my arms. The General did say I “could dress as I please.” 

Throwing off the slacks and shirt, but leaving the breasts wrapped, I pulled on my shift and Agnes’ dress. Agnes’ apron was soon pinned to my chest.    

I slipped off my boots and shoved on my sandals.  

Well, back to work.  

Down in the kitchen, I nabbed a small cauldron and a bucket and filled them both with water from the well in the middle of the yard. Both went up to the bath room.  

And repeat. Friggin’ heart, don’t fail me now! 

The other cauldron was now filled and hanging on the stand. The two buckets were now crammed into the corner beside the fireplace. I got a fire started under the cauldrons, my back facing the door. The fire roared. It would take at least another two hours before the water got going.  

I was about to grab some more buckets, when I saw Sadie trudging a yoke holding two filled buckets up the stairs. In her hands were two more buckets of water.   

She said nothing as she handed the water over. Instead, she left me the yoke and went back down the stairs.   

I sighed; only two more buckets to go.  

Mentally, I prepared myself for my last long journey to the well. I repeated Psalm 23 and muttered a Hail Mary under my breath for strength.   

After the storeroom, after the well, the buckets were filled. Overjoyed, I mentally recited the Lord’s Prayer four times as I returned to the bath room. Once inside, the two buckets joined the others in the corner beside the fireplace.  

I got down on my knees to check the heat of the two cauldrons. The apron’s pocket contents poked at my waist.  

While I was in the kitchen, I’d picked up Sadie’s present. It wouldn’t be good for any of my aches and pains, but if the General had any, I could splash some of the mixture on a towel and hand it to him.  

I tapped my finger to the bottom of the first cauldron. Lukewarm. At this rate, and considering I was going to have to heat the water in the eight buckets as well, the General’s bath would probably start a little later than expected.  

Standing up, I grabbed one of the candles from the left side and brought it over to the fire, lighting it. It shared its light with the six other candles in the room.   

Returning to the fireplace, I closed my eyes, breathing in the warm smell of the burning wood. The heat of the afternoon was gone; the night was bitterly cold. The nearby flames felt wonderful, like a source of encouragement and reassurance. No one had come to the room and I was grateful for this small chance to stop, reflect and pray for help.  

The heat from the flames tickled my stomach.  

The floor started to thaw under my feet.   

I hugged my myself. Peace and comfort surrounded me.  

The door swung open behind me and I immediately got up to greet the General.  

I saw the man standing in the doorway.  

I could’ve killed Agnes.  

The General was nowhere in sight, but a certain Captain in an open poet’s shirt was. He still had his pants and boots on, thank God.  

His eyes locked onto mine. The smile from earlier was nowhere to be found. He did manage a small, “Konban wa.” 

I repeated his greeting, trying to show as little emotion as possible.  

Like the first few months at the Fort, like that first meal, like the time I forced him to learn those first few words of Japanese, I shut down and shut him out. I would be as uninteresting and uninterested as possible. Not worth the time or effort. He might not rape me, but he was still the perfect picture of misogyny.  

Forget the tub and the buckets, I should’ve had that nap; being tired out put me in a tight spot. My heart could act up and if it did…  

My stomach threatened to empty itself onto the floor. 

Right, no time to waste. Water, heat thyself.         

Then, I changed the language. You don’t mix happy memories of Yuri and Japan with a soon-to-be naked Randall. “Well,” I pretended to look him over, “Take off your clothes.”  

Randall didn’t blink.  

“You first,” he shot back. He hated being told what to do.  

He tried to look as innocent and concerned as possible, “Your clothes. You will need to take them off, otherwise, you may get wet and catch cold-” 

I turned to check on the water, “Just get in the tub Captain, you’ve got nothing I haven’t seen before.”  

Kneeling down, I breathed on the flames. “You’ll have to wait. The water won’t be ready for another…” I stopped myself; remember where you are, “..half-hour at least.”  

I wasn’t putting up with him tonight. He’d get a bath all right, but it would be the chilliest bath he’d ever taken. So arctic, that he’d never ask for another one ever again.  

I tapped the bottom of the first cauldron. At least I didn’t have to worry about him trying anything. 

“Is it any warmer?” he asked.  

I refused to turn around, choosing to dip my finger into the top of the cauldron. “It’s slowly getting there.” It was warm, but not as hot as I would’ve liked.  

“Could you lend me some aid?” 

I bent down and breathed on the fire, “You’re a grown man, aren’t you? Do it yourself!”  

“No.”  

My stomach flipped.  

“No,” he repeated, this time a little more firmly, “I am quite capable of getting undressed myself. Forgive me.”  

He looked down at the floor, “No trousers?” 

I blinked, “What?” 

“Your trousers,” he remarked, “You wear them under your shift. You do not keep your legs bare.”  

I looked down, then I looked back up and shrugged my shoulders, “I guess I just felt like a change.”  

He put his hands behind his back, “A change?” 

I shrugged again, “Yeah.” 

He seemed disturbed, “Turn around.” He paused, as if he felt he needed to explain, “I do not wish to subject you to the sight of my body, which would no doubt make you uncomfortable.” 

Normally, I would’ve snorted and said something smart. It wasn’t worth it, though. There was no point in getting him riled up over nothing. As I went back to fire, hearing the rustle of fabric behind me, I inwardly cringed. I hated this. I sounded like a battered woman.  

I hated having to live this way, constantly afraid of everybody around me. Worried, that if I was ever in a bad situation; where I was in pain, and my friends were nowhere in sight, I’d be raped and tortured.  

Still, Randall had mellowed out. Not much, but a little. Our arguments weren’t as violent as they used to be.  

Footsteps approached the fire. I turned around. Looking up, I made sure to keep my eyes on his face.  

He smirked, “Is the water any warmer?”  

I refused to give him any kind of satisfaction. “Good question.”  

Don’t blink, girl, don’t let him see that you’d rather be anywhere but here. 

I smiled, warmly, “I’ll check.” 

My finger hit the top of the water in the first cauldron and I pulled it away immediately. “Yeah,” I blurted out, wincing from the temperature, “It’s ready.” 

I could still feel him behind me.  

Then, merciful God, he moved, and I heard the tub creak. 

The bottle left my apron. Unfortunately, he couldn’t let that go either.  

“What is that?”  

I told him the truth, “A present from Sadie.”  

“Look at me,” he ordered.  

I complied.  

“The truth,” he breathed, “What is it, really?” 

Well, I could have a little fun at his expense, couldn’t I?  

“None of your effin’ business.”   

I immediately went back to the water. I took Agnes’ apron off and bunched it up. It was a lousy potholder, but I was pretty sure Randall would throw a fit if I used one of the good towels. 

I took both cauldrons off the fireplace. Then, I sat down on the floor.  

“What are you doing?” 

Randall was sitting in the tub, staring at the candles on the left wall. He looked smaller than usual; I guess the heels of his boots helped a little. It was interesting to see just how much of Randall was made up of coat, hat and saber.  

Underneath, he wasn’t much at all. And, I’d be willing to bet, he hated me seeing him like this ; small, bare, human. 

“Waiting for the water to cool, you don’t want me to scald you, do you?”  

He looked surprised which surprised me.   

It was such an easy concept. How could he have missed that?  

“Come here,” he stretched out his hand, looking back at the wall.    

At least that’s what I think he said. He whispered it so softly, I had to look at his lips to figure out the words he was using to communicate.  

“Be patient,” I said, “I’ll come over, once the water’s cooled down.”  

He smirked and said nothing.  

I tried to keep him busy. “So…”  

He turned his head, slightly. 

I tried to think of something interesting.   

“…how was your day?”  

He burst out laughing, “You are inquiring after my daily activities?” 

“Look, I’m sorry, I was-” 

“Trying your hand at small talk and failing miserably. That is what you were doing. Really, Andrea-” 

I didn’t even bother correcting the way he said my name. It’s An-dray-yah , not An-dree-yah. I kept praying it’d all be over soon.  

“-I have come to expect better from our rendezvous.” 

Tune him out, shake off your shoes.  

“Did you never converse with your clients? If what I saw earlier was any indication of your former business, I am bewildered that you even managed to survive for so long.” 

“It’s what I usually ask Kendall at the end of the day.” 

Now that got his attention.  

“Kendall?”  

I rolled up my sleeve and dipped my elbow into one of the cauldrons. “Ready.”  

I grabbed the first one and walked quickly towards the tub. He gripped the wooden sides, glaring at me, daring me to make a wrong move.  

“Relax,” I chuckled, “Over your head or straight into the tub?” 

He winced, he tried to say the word, “T-t-.” He couldn’t even bring himself to repeat what I’d said. “The…proper word you are searching for is…bath-tub.” 

He paused again, struggling, “Not-” 

“I know, I know: ‘No, Andrea, I do not think so.’ So, over your head-” 

“Why are you inquiring after my preferences?” 

Why is it that all of my conversations with him always turned so weird? 

I tried to stay calm, “Well, some people-” 

“Do you bathe men often?” 

“N-no,” I stammered, “I just-” 

“You just what? Tell me, this intrigues me.” 

I stood there, hot cauldron in hand, getting flustered. I didn’t care if he knew it, “It’s called not being a douchebag, okay. It’s called being nice.” 

I was expecting a grin, a smirk or a sneer. I was not expecting his confusion.  

“Nice,” he muttered, turning back to face the wall.  

“Yeah, you ask people what they like…and you listen,” the cauldron was starting to weigh me down and I was trying hard not to get burned.  

“What they like?” he sneered, “You care what I like?”   

In that moment, I felt the presence of the Evil One, tempting me to shove the hot cauldron onto Randall’s head.  

I resisted that temptation.  

Randall’s gaze changed. He studied me, his hands resting on his chest.  

“Normally,” he started again, moving his head to the side, “A good soldier waits for his orders.” 

He turned to the side in the tub, sneer flickering, “Next time, you will wait, and you will do as you are told.”  

Inside, I was cursing.  

“Do I make myself clear?”  

But all I could do was nod. 

I was lucky he took that and didn’t ask for anything else.   

He hesitated, as if trying to see what else he could make me do. “Give me your-” 

I staggered.  

He looked confused, then looked at the cauldron, “Ah yes, the water. Into the bathtub, over my legs.”  

I bent down.  

“Slowly,” he added. 

Hot water flowed gently over his legs. His body never moved an inch. I looked his chest and legs over. He had quite a bit of hair- 

I immediately went to the other side of the room, filling the cauldron with four bucket’s worth of water. I placed it on the stand. Then, I paused. Why did I do that?  

I’d seen him naked before, standing in front of me. I’d seen everything. Why did I care about modesty now?  

My brain kicked me. Grudgingly, I acknowledged the kick.  

Just because you’re gay doesn’t mean you get a free pass at observing male nudity. And, just because it’s Randall, doesn’t mean you get to start acting like him. 

“You find my body desirable?”  

This time I giggled. I couldn’t help it.  

I brought the other steaming cauldron over, “Don’t flatter yourself. Besides, you’ve seen one naked man, you’ve seen them all.”   

Randall’s expression went blank. He considered my words, “You find nakedness… common?”  

“Don’t feel too bad, Captain,” I reassured, “You’re just talking to the wrong woman.”  

Good, make it seem like you’re the problem, not him. Good night! If only Nyala could see me now, kowtowing to a man.  

“Wrong?” he repeated, “Yes you are wrong, in so many ways, yes.” 

I waited patiently for him to let me drop the water over him.  

Instead, he smiled at me, watching me struggle with the cauldron.  

He tilted his head back and groaned sharply. Bringing his arm up to touch his shoulder.  

I placed the cauldron on the floor and crossed over to the towel table. I pulled open the drawer and removed a washcloth.  

“What are you doing?” Randall snapped. 

“Helping you,” I stated, calmly, rushing over to the fireplace and pulling the stopper on Sadie’s bottle. 

That shut him up but good. Returning to the tub, I held out the cloth to him, now covered in the ointment.  

“Rub this on wherever it hurts. It won’t make the pain go away, but it’ll help.”  

I pointed to the cauldron, “May I?” 

He stared at me, livid. He huffed. He sneered. But, he did take the cloth; carefully, as if it was going to come to life any minute and viciously attack him.   

He gently touched the cloth to his shoulder. Noticing me watching him, he snapped, “You may pour the water over my legs and then, you may return to guard your hearth.” 

A dizzy spell hit me. Once the water was poured, I slowly made my way back over to the warmth with the now-empty pot. Dropping it on the floor, I sat down on my butt and huddled my knees against my chin. 

Water splashed in the tub, followed by the wet smacks of the cloth and ointment meeting Randall’s body.  

Now, I could rest my eyes, if only for a few moments.  

Then, I remembered the other four buckets and the empty cauldron.  

Can’t catch a break.  

I turned to grab the two buckets when my neck cracked, loudly.  

“Are you well?” he asked, in a voice that was sweet as candy.  

“I’m fine,” I answered, quickly. I went to grab the buckets- 

Water splashed.  

“You don’t have to get up, my neck cracked,” I groaned. “It happens. I’ll be fine.”  

My neck ached. 

“Come here,” Randall ordered. Then he added, quietly, “The water can wait.” 

Turning around, I looked at Randall. His face was blank, quieter than it’d been a few minutes ago.  

What was he up to now? 

I started to walk towards the tub. “Stop,” he ordered, “You will sit down with your back towards me. Understood?” 

Nodding, I neared the tub and turned around, kneeling on the floor.  

There was silence.  

Then, “No. I will not have you on your knees. Sit, as you did by the hearth. Sit.”  

My knees sneaked out from under the weight of my body. Once huddled, Randall continued, “Now, lay your back against the wood.”  

Nervous, I slowly inched my spine towards the side of the tub.  

I felt something touch my spine. I jumped. I tried to get up.  

A hand took me by the shoulder, stopping me. Then, it guided me back to the edge of the tub. The hand pulled down the back of my dress, as far as it could, exposing the start of my spine and the tops of my shoulders.   

Then nothing.   

Sick freak. Probably trying to figure out how he’s going to hurt me next- 

I felt the cloth glide across the back of my neck. I twitched; the ointment was cold.  

“There,” he breathed, “How does that feel?”  

I could feel him behind me, but not as close as before, when he loomed over me at the fireplace.  

“A little cold,” I admitted.  

“It will take a few minutes to produce its intended effect,” Randall continued, spreading the ointment down to my spine.  

I tried to distract myself. “Feeling better?” I asked.  

The cloth stopped.  

“Your shoulder?” I pushed, “Does it still hurt?”  

A hand tipped my chin upwards. Randall’s face now loomed over mine. “My,” the emphasis he put on that last word was incredible, “So many questions today…” He smirked, “One would think you were truly concerned with my well-being.”  

“I am,” I said. “Well, yes and no. I mean-” 

“Andrea?”  

“Yes?”  

“Shut up.”  

My face was lowered, and Randall rubbed the ointment against my shoulders.   

I tried to keep my emotions in check. The more boring I was, the more he’d probably lose interest.   

Suddenly, he hissed behind me. 

“Shoulder still bothering you?”  

What? It was a fair question… 

“It is nothing,” he wheezed, “Do not trouble yourself.”  

I rolled my eyes, “Hang on. Give me a second.” 

“No.”  

“I’m getting up.” 

“No, stay there.”  

“I’m turning around.” 

I looked down to find one ticked off naked Randall hunched over the side of the tub. He was clutching his right shoulder, the one that had been bothering him before.  

“S-sit down.”  

I crossed my arms, “Lie back against the tub.” 

He blinked up at me, “I beg your pardon.”  

“Relax, this’ll help.”  

I went to the front of the tub and reached out with both hands, “Here. Lie here.”  

Randall clutched his shoulder like his virtue was at stake.  

“No. Madam. I will do no such thing.”  

That’s when my mouth took over, “Stop being such a baby and come here.”  

Now, he was angry, “A baby, Madam?” 

I’d already started this fight, might as well finish it.   

“Yes, an infant.” I smirked, “Honestly, you know Captain, sometimes I can’t tell the difference between you and a whiny child.”  

“Be silent.”  

I threw up my hands, mid-body, “Whatever.” I crossed my arms and turned to the side, making sure to look as unimpressed as possible. 

Randall didn’t say a word. I heard the water splash violently and I heard something collide with the front of the tub.  

“Well?” Randall barked. 

I moved in behind him, “I’m going to put some more ointment on your shoulders,” I told him, “Is that all right?” 

He whipped his head to the side, wincing slightly, “Is that…all right?”  

I tried to think of how to explain it to him. “I want to make sure that you’re comfortable with whatever I’m doing.” 

He stared at me.  

“I don’t want to upset you,” I added.  

Randall looked like he’d been shot in the face. He leaned against the side of the tub, staring at the water, mumbling something I couldn’t hear.  

Eventually, he turned his head to look at me. He studied me, his eyes were on fire, “It is your wish for me to experience pleasure?” 

I guess you could call it that. At least he was gay, so I didn’t have to worry about him taking it another way.  

“Sure,” I answered, awkwardly, “Think of it like that.”  

For a moment, he looked like he was going to be sick. Then, he slumped against the back of the tub.  

“You may touch me,” he huffed, “If you wish.”  

I grabbed a new cloth and went back to the fireplace for more ointment Then, I went back to the bathtub and rubbed the cloth gently, up and down the shoulder.  

Randall let out a deep breath. 

The ointment was starting to tingle my skin. “It’s warmer, now.” 

“Hmm?” he looked up, eyes half-closed. 

“The ointment,” I explained.  

“Against your skin?” he asked, watching the wall in front of him.  

“Y-” 

Wisdom kicked into overdrive, stopping me. But why? It was skin, for crying out loud.  

“It is a most delicious sensation, is it not?”  

His voice was incredibly creepy. Okay, change of subject. 

“I was-” 

“Shh…” He was having none of it. He raised his left hand, bringing up the other cloth that had fallen into the tub.  

His other hand stopped my movement, “That will suffice, for the present time.” He grasped it in his, “Thank you.” 

I shied away from his touch, “You’re, uh, welcome.”  

“You must be tired,” he stated, turning around to face me. I could swear I saw hope in his eyes. But, for what?  

“I should go check on the water.” 

Disappointment flashed, followed by hatred. “Of course,” he whispered, releasing my hand.  

The other cauldron was soon filled and put on the fire. Then, I removed its now-heated twin. “You should let your hair down, Captain.” 

He frowned, “Now why exactly would I do that?”  

I gave him a knowing look, “How else are you going to wash your hair?” 

A smile crept onto his face, spreading into a wide grin. “You like my hair, do you not?”  

In response, I dumped the water onto his legs, “You know what, forget the hair. Just forget I said anything.” 

He chuckled. It made a terrible sound.  

“Sit by me,” he patted the edge of the tub, “Sit.”  

Inside, I groaned, but I still did as I was asked. The smile never left his face. He welcomed me with open arms back to the edge I’d been resting against before.  

I wasn’t ready for the two hands that caressed my neck. 

I squeaked.  

“Calm yourself,” Randall whispered, “I wish to repay you for your earlier kindness.”  

His hands moved in circular motions around the tense muscles that lined my neck. The movement, combined with the ointment’s earlier effects, began to make me drowsy. I tried to pick myself up off the floor, but I was so tired- 

“I-” 

“Shh,” he cooed, “Close your eyes. Rest. Let me attend to the aches and pains that trouble you so.” 

The hands felt wonderful against my skin. Their movements had a gentle, calming effect on me. Willingly, I drifted off into darkness. I could feel my head being arranged to rest against a warm body. Randall’s hands continued their work, tracing every inch of my neck and shoulders. Round and round, up and down, back and forth. 

I let out a soft moan.  

The hands stopped. “You find this enjoyable, I think?” 

“Absolutely,” I groaned, “Keep going.” 

“I would do as the lady wishes,” he teased, “But first, I must admit, I do not wish to rub such a filthy body.”  

My eyes opened and narrowed, “Filthy?” 

I tried to get up, he pulled me back.  

I twisted my head around. He was pretending to look innocent again.  

“My dear, exactly when was the last time you bathed?” 

“Why you-” 

Then, I stopped and thought about it, “It’s…been awhile.” Then, I glared at him, “Nice try, Captain.” What a cheap and dirty trick, just so he could get me to take off my clothes.  

Creep. Knowing him, he’d probably go out and brag to everyone at the fort about how he knew what I looked like naked. Just so he could prove how manly and straight he was. 

Randall played dumb, “Madam Jackson, I assure you I had no intention of attempting to view your body. Though, it is slightly hypocritical on your part, given that I have so willingly shared every inch of my own. I simply wished to instill in you a good sense of hygiene.”  

How stupid did he think I was? “A good sense of hygiene?”  

“Of course,” he said, nodding, “Whatever other reason could I have for wanting you to wash your face, neck and hands.”  

My face, neck and hands. Well, he couldn’t brag about that. And, if it would get him to shut up…Still, I got the feeling I was missing something.  

“Randall, I wasn’t born yesterday. If you want, I’ll wash all three for you, right now, but if you try anything…” I left the last part open to interpretation.  

He sneered, “Of course. I must remember you are not a woman to be trifled with.” 

I motioned to move away from the tub once more, but Randall’s hands refused to release me.  

“Stay here,” he said, “I will get the water.”  

Wait, what?  

“You seem tired. Simply turn yourself around, towards the bathtub.”  

My body turned until I was kneeling in front of the tub, “Like this?”  

“Yes, yes.” I could hear footsteps and some clanging behind me.  

“Is the water warm enough?” 

“Oh, most certainly, yes.” Pause. “My dear, I wonder, would you be so kind as to raise yourself up and over the edge. That way the water will not spill over onto the floor.”  

I moved over the edge until I was almost in the middle of the tub.  

“Good?” I groaned. 

“Just a little more in the center,” he said.  

I moved a little to the left, confused, “Like this?” 

“Yes, yes,” he sounded happy, “Wonderful.”  

“Great, so wh-”  

Very hot water whipped my head and shoulders. I looked down, the front of my dress was soaking wet, along with my back.  

Laughter rang out.  

Randall.  

I tried to get up, “You-” My knees slipped on the floor. “Why you-” I managed to make a half-turn, gripping the wooden edge of the tub for support.  

I hissed, “You’re in so much trouble-” 

Randall’s howling continued as another wave of steaming water hit me straight in the face. I gave him the best death glare I could muster.  

He stopped. “Surely,” he stated, the laughter leaving his face. His mouth made a small thin line on his face and his eyes went dead, “Surely, you wish for vengeance, now?” 

“What?” I coughed.  

“Vengeance,” he stated. The bucket in his hands was placed on the floor. “Come,” he called, opening his arms wide, “Come and regain the honour lost.”  

So, Randall wanted to play.  

All right.  

I turned away from him and back towards the tub, placing my hands over the side, “Do as you must,” I cried, “I will not struggle.”  

I could hear his footsteps behind me. A faint shadow darkened the tub.  

“And are you mine?” he breathed, “Will you surrender yourself to me?”  

I raised my hands up. He covered them with his.  

Then, I flipped him over my shoulders and into the water. “Tag, you’re it!” I shouted, running towards the fireplace and grabbing an empty bucket and filling it with water from the now cooling cauldron.  

Randall pulled himself together quickly and chased after me. I turned and slapped the water right in his face. Then, I dropped the bucket and ran past him, cackling.  

I stopped and turned around. Randall kept his back to me. He brought his hands up to his face. His hair was dripping. 

I giggled.  

He spun around. “Harpy!” he cried, “So, you think this amusing? You seek to use me for your own entertainment? Hmm?” 

He took a step forward, “You will apologize.”  

That’s when my mouth got the better of me. “Make me,” I sneered.  

He dashed, I fled.  

I hadn’t had this much fun in a long time. For a few minutes, he chased me around the tub. I was cackling like a witch.  

Then, I ran to the fireplace, but, he moved in, cutting me off. I motioned to the left, Randall followed. I motioned to the right, Randall blocked me again.  

“You have nowhere to run,” he hissed. “Oh, the trouble you have caused me tonight.” 

I smirked. He looked puzzled.  

Before he could react, I slipped myself onto the floor and through his legs, catching one of the buckets on the other side of him.  

I tried to get and up, but I felt two strong hands cross my arms against my chest. Randall dragged me across the room.  

“No, no, no!” I giggled, “Let me go! Let me go!” I was laughing like a lunatic, but Randall refused to release me. He brought me to stand at the bottom of the tub, locking my body with his arms.  

“I have been patient with you,” he hissed.  

I pretended to struggle, “Help! Help! Sadie! Kend-” 

A soft hand clapped over my mouth, Randall chuckled. “Scream!” He jeered, “Scream little girl, no one will hear you!”  

He released my mouth and I continued to play along, “Oh no! Quick! Someone, anyone! Save me! The Captain has me confused with his aide!”  

He laughed again, pressing me up against his chest, “You are completely at my mercy.” 

I started to giggle again. He smiled, gazing into my eyes deeply.  

“For your crimes,” he whispered, “Against King and Country…”  

“No,” I pretended to struggle some more, “All lies!”  

He clicked his tongue, “How dare you make such slander against my person!” 

“You knave!” I whined in a high-pitch voice, “You’d lie about my moral character-” 

He blinked, “Your moral character?”  

“Yes!” I sniffled, “Which you know to be immaculate.”  

Randall nearly fell over laughing.  

I continued, “Simply because I won’t give in to your vile and twisted desires!” 

His eyes flashed, “Madam. Pray tell, what desires are those?”  

I shook my head, staring dramatically at the towel table. “No.” 

He grabbed my hands, harder, “No?”  

I shook my head, “No, I shall not speak of such things!”  

“Really?”  

I heard him lick his lips. “You will talk.” 

“Never!”  

“Oh yes,” he hissed, “You will.”  

He twisted my chin to his face, eyes hungry, “I will see to that.”  

He hoisted my body into his arms, “Into the bathtub you go-” 

I laughed, “Oh no, oh no, oh no, no, no, no-” 

“Oh yes,” he sneered.  

“Okay, Randall, time out.” 

“No, Madam,” he pretended to drop me. I clutched his arms. “Stop!” I cried.  

“Beg!” he barked, “Beg for your life! Beg for mercy!” 

I rolled my eyes, and said, in the most bored and annoyed voice possible:  

“Oh Black Jack, have mercy. Oh Randall, please, please, please, don’t!”  

He glared at me.  

“What?” I snapped, “I never beg.”  

“On your knees.”  

“Oh the hey-” 

“Or else I will drop you into the water-” 

So, it was his way or the highway, huh?  

We’ll see about that.  

I pretended to sniffle, “Very well. Set me down, so I can beg.” 

He grinned and moved his head to the side, “As the lady wishes.” 

I got down on my knees, sobbing and wailing as loudly as I could. I even threw my head back with my hand touching the front. “Please, Sir,” I cried, “Spare this poor lass!”   

I looked up to see him, smirking, arms folded. He looked so pleased with himself.  

“More,” he ordered, “Make it more…convincing.”  

I rolled my eyes and continued, “Oh, listen you maidens of Scotland. Learn from my story and beware…” I took a deep breath and paused, “…Captain Jonathan Wolverton Randall Esquire because he will-” 

I put both hands over my face and pretended to fall over in distress.  

“I’ll do what?” he asked, interested.  

“He’ll drown you in his bathtub!” I wailed, throwing myself down at his feet, “Have mercy, Sir!”  

I peeked up, he was having the time of his life. Just you effin’ wait, Randall, just you effin’ wait. 

“And why should I do that?” 

“I have no family, Sir.”  

He grabbed me by the back of my dress and hoisted me up, a little too roughly, “Enough talk,” he growled, “Now, you will choose. The water or…”  

He paused for dramatic effect, “You will give in to my desires.”  

“No,” I screamed.  

He laughed, darkly. Then, his face turned serious, “Choose.”  

“Very well,” I sniffled. While I had him distracted, I slowly moved my legs from a kneel to a crouch. “I will-” I stopped, turning my head to the side, pretending to cry.  

“You will?”  

“I will!”  

“Will what?”  

“I will learn how to cook,” I sobbed, violently, twisting in his grip.  

He released my makeshift dress and I fell over the edge of the tub, weeping like a paid mourner at a funeral.  

“Surrender,” he ordered.  

I nodded slowly, waiting for him to come closer.  

I felt his hands on my shoulders.  

That’s when I tackled him to the ground, stunning him. I jumped up, launching my arms into the air, “Huzzah! Never surrender! Never retreat!”  

I shoved my sandal onto his chest, “I have you now, Randall!” 

He blinked.  

“Madam. I do not-” 

“Surrender!” I screamed, diving on top of him, tickling his stomach.  

“MADAM!” he yelled, shoving me off and onto the floor.  

He rolled over and turned his back to me. I could see his chest heaving. “What have you done?” he muttered, “What have you done?”  

“Oh come on,” I groaned, “You can’t get upset over-.”  

He stretched his arm, palm up, “Stay back!”  

“Randall, what is it?”  

“Stay back!”  

“What’s wrong?”  

He made a small hissing sound. Then, he sneered, “Return to your hearth, now.” 

I rushed over to the fireplace and sat down, watching him.  

He knelt against the left wall, placing his head beside the second of the five candles. The muttering started again.  

Shaking my head. I gathered Sadie’s present and my apron. Bath time was over. 

That’s when I felt myself being shoved to the ground. Hands seized my feet, dragging me across the floor.  

I was flipped onto my back and felt my sandals being removed from my feet. I tried to sit up, only to have my legs pulled up and over something. A hand grabbed one of mine, raising me up. There, sitting in the tub, holding onto my knees, was a much calmer Randall. The grin from before had returned to his face. “I had forgot to wash your feet,” he explained.  

Before I could say anything, he took a washcloth in hand and began to glide it across my feet. My back slumped on the ground in defeat.  

Why not? Let him have his fun. At least he wasn’t hurting anybody.  

Randall’s cloth circled my ankles, under the dress’s skirt. After brushing them with the washcloth, he rubbed them down with his hands.  

“How very Christian of you, Captain,” I said.  

“A compliment?” I could almost picture the grin getting wider, “Are you attempting to curry favor with me?”  

I huffed, “It figures. I try to give you a compliment and naturally, you get suspicious.” 

The cloth traveled to the base of my feet, causing me to giggle again.  

“Of course,” he answered, “For the simple reason that I do not trust you.”   

“Likewise,” I breathed.  

The cloth traveled to the tops of my feet, his hands working the souls. I closed my eyes again in bliss. He might be a lousy person, but he gives wonderful foot rubs.  

The skin on my feet started to warm and tingle; I guess Sadie’s ointment still worked, even after being doused in water.  

I felt the skirt being lifted to my knees. The cloth made its way to my left calf. I smiled. Even though every brain cell in my head was screaming at me to run to the door, I stayed. I was enjoying his touch. His fingers traced soft circles, brushing against the hair on my leg.  

I felt my body twitch.  

The room, so warm. 

The cloth visited my right calf. I inhaled deeply, filling my belly with air.  

“Breathe,” the Captain whispered above, “Breathe.”  

Water splashed over the parts he’d cleaned. The water was cooler now. It felt wonderful, especially since the room’s temperature was getting warmer by the second.  

The Captain began to knead the knots in my calf.  

I moaned, loudly.  

The cloth brushed the knee. I gasped as cool water met hot skin. I arched my back.  

“Captain?” I squeaked. 

“Shh,” he whispered, “Breathe.”  

His hands traveled up to the knee, fingers tracing the knobs.  

I began to pant, hard; the room was sweltering now. I felt the room spin.  

His hands shifted my skirt up further. He placed his hands on my thighs, spreading them gently, pressing them down.  

I was going to be sick. I panted harder, “R-Randall.”  

He placed a hand on my hip.  

It took everything I had to pull my knees out of the tub. I rolled to the side, hand to my mouth.  

Spinning, the room kept spinning.  

I heard water splash. “What ever is the matter, now?” Randall hissed. He bent down next to my face, studying me.  

His face was blank. He put his hand to my forehead, then moved it down to touch both of my cheeks. My hips thrust forward. I whined.  

What the- 

Randall hoisted me to my feet and put my arm over his shoulder. “Lean against me,” he ordered, “Take small steps. Slowly. We shall go together.”  

I nodded. I felt another wave of nausea hit. “I think-” 

“Shh,” he whispered, “The water will help.”  

Cool water. Yes. That would help.  

Randall led me to the tub. I stepped over the edge, using Randall’s body as a support. Once inside, I breathed a sigh of relief; the cool water felt wonderful against my feet. Standing behind me, arms wrapped around my chest, head resting on my neck, Randall pressed his body into my back. I wined again, throwing my head back.   

“Feeling better?” he asked, chuckling.  

I pressed my body closer to his. A sharp pain between my thighs made me cry out, loudly.  

God?  

“Tell me your secrets,” Randall whispered into my ear.      

What the hell is going on?  

The pain grew. My breasts ached. 

I began to pant louder. His arms squeezed me, “Tell me your desires. Share them with me. I will not reproach you.”  

Fluid leaked between my thighs.  

He pressed his chest into my back, harder, “Stay here tonight. Kendall has no need for you.”  

No.  

My heart raced. I needed to go. I needed to get out of here.  

I felt a hand tug at my skirt.   

No.  

I ripped myself out of Randall’s arms. I slammed him face-first into the ground.  

I didn’t check to see if he was still breathing. I needed to leave that room. That awful, evil, suffocating room.  

I opened the door and ran down the hall. I bolted down a flight of stairs, then another, then another.  

My heart was pounding, my mouth was as dry. Tears streamed down my face.     

When I got to the ground floor, pain stabbed my groin, forcing me down.  

Three sentries saw me and helped me to my feet.  

“Madam Jackson, are you all right?”  

Another wave of nausea hit. “Please,” I gasped, “Leave me alone.”  

I pushed away from them and staggered down the hallway. The kitchen, I needed to get to the kitchen.  

I huffed and puffed. The stinging now clawed at my insides. My fever burned higher. My lungs wheezed.  

The door to the kitchen was at the end of the hall.  

I gripped one of the walls and hung on for dear life, making my way slowly to the kitchen entrance.  

My head spun. I dropped to the ground, clutching at the stones in the wall. The pain forced a yelp from my throat. All of the contents of my stomach covered the front of my robe.  

Shaking, I was shaking all over, violently.  

I was now crawling on the ground towards the kitchen, moving as fast as a snail. I had to. If I moved too fast, I’d retch for sure.  

The itch down below wasn’t going away either. No, it pressed into my core, making my back arch.  

After what seemed like hours on my hands and knees, I reached that block of wood. I clutched the handle. It took all of my strength to wedge it open. My hands clutched the edge of the door, moving it towards me.  

I crawled to the top of the stairs. 

“Help,” I whimpered, “Help.”  

Sadie was usually in the kitchen. Where was she? 

I moved my body sideways. Leaning on the wall in front, I shuffled my body down, hoping that none of the shaking boards would crack underneath me.  

When I reached the bottom, my arms gave out. I fell face-first into the floor. The fire inside me raged, the pain threating to tear me in two; starting from the bottom and working its way to the top.  

My eyes were red and sore, but that didn’t stop them from flowing.  

“Help,” I screamed, mouthful of dirt. Coughing, I wrapped my arms around my sore waist.  

My eyes started to close…  

Sadie.  

Agnes.  

Kendall.  

God. 

Our Lady. 

Somebody help me.      

Gone – Chapter 29

« On a warm sunny day, in July, I said goodbye to my landlord. I was headed for California. I’d been accepted into the accounting program at Haas. »

Here is my Outlander fanfiction. Tonight’s pairing is Black Jack Randall/OC. The following story may be TRIGGERING to some because of mentions of rape, incest, graphic sex and drug abuse. Viewer discretion is advised.

Chapter 29 – Yuri, Nyala and I

On a warm sunny day, in July, I said goodbye to my landlord. I was headed for California. I’d been accepted into the accounting program at Haas.

When I got off the plane, I went straight to campus. The cabbie that dropped me off said I was the best lay he’d had in a long time.

The campus smelled like money. The men dressed like politicians. The women looked like movie stars. It was unreal. Orientation day wasn’t until Tuesday, so I spent four days in a hotel. In that time, I’d made up most of the money to pay my hotel bill.

When the orientation day for September 1981 came, I was out and about looking for a room mate. During the session, I saw a skinny girl with short hair cowering in a corner.

The dean of my faculty was harassing her. “You speak Engrish, huh? Can you say mo-ney? Have I insulted your ho-nour?”

The girl shook her head, “Please allow me to continue with the session.”

“It seems the faculty is so desperate for students, they have to get them from overseas. I don’t like japs getting into our business. Never have, never will.”

The girl was staring down at the floor. She didn’t say a word.

“Oh, that’s right, I’m an authority figure. You japs respect authority, don’t you?”

The girl’s eyes didn’t leave the floor.

“Say, ‘I’m a silly idiot’.”

I walked over to them.

“Well, say it!”

“Hello!” I sang.

The dean and the girl just stared at me like I had two heads.

“What do you want,” the dean asked.

“Hello handsome,” I cooed, “First things first. I want you to leave my friend here, alone. Second, I should tell you that I have a friend in the local Black Panther Chapter, who might just start rallying at this school if I tell him about you.”

The last thing that dean wanted was a bunch of angry black people on his campus. Scared, the man accepted Yuri into the session.

I stared at the pretty, honey-skinned, almond-eyed girl. She was a beauty you’d want to keep. “Say,” I said, “Why don’t you become my roommate and I’ll keep you out of trouble. Come on, what do you say?”

“Thank you for your help,” the girl said, in perfect English. “My name is Yuri.” She blushed.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I hate that I have to rely on your kindness,” she said, sweetly, “I despise it.”

I just shrugged my shoulders. She became my roommate anyway. She had to if she was going to survive on campus.

By September, I started full-time classes with Yuri and the two of us were getting to know each other pretty well. We weren’t friends, but we didn’t hate each other, neither.

I was still working nights, but not as often. Mostly on weekends. I made around $600 to $900 dollars a weekend. I still used makeup, but only a little on my eyes and foundation to cover up my acne. I tanned myself because guys like that, apparently. I mostly catered to guys back then. I’d just plunk myself on a street corner and they’d come calling. Some Saturdays I went to gaybars where I picked up “clients”. Seeing as how I liked girls better, I charged the gals $65 instead of the usual $75.   

By October, I was best buddies with my roommate. The one thing that we never talked about was Yuri’s family. Every time that girl tried to mention them, she looked pained. I didn’t pry. I stayed out of her business. The only other thing I knew about Yuri was that she was also working as a secretary for one of the departments, which helped pay her tuition cost. She was in business and I was in accounting. We’d swap class stories together at night, just to liven things up. It was fun back then.  

I helped Yuri with her English (that was the only other subject I was good at, besides math). When I started helping her, the first thing that Yuri said was, “You’re good at languages.”

Yuri still hated the fact that she had to rely on me. As she didn’t want to be a burden on me, she asked if she could teach me Japanese in return. “It will repay you,” she explained.

I didn’t want to learn it. I mean, who the hell was I going to talk to in Japanese?

But seeing as I…well…liked her. And, I guessed it would make her feel better. Look, I knew what it was like to feel you owed somebody something and she was just trying to do right by me, so why not?  

By November, I tried to sleep with Yuri. I wanted her to be my girlfriend. She wouldn’t have it. Still, I stuck with her as a room mate and friend because well, I liked her.

When we spoke in Japanese, I felt safe. I can’t explain why, but it gave me a sense of comfort, of closeness with Yuri. It was somewhere where I could hide from my night job.

Later in November, Yuri was struggling with the cost of her tuition. Even with her job. When I found out, I told her I’d work more. I explained who I was. I don’t know why.

When I told her how I worked, I was surprised. She didn’t judge me.

“It’s my pride,” she said, “I won’t take your help. I will just have to go back home.”

I didn’t want to lose her because she was the only person who didn’t treat me like trash. So, I gave her $1500 dollars to help pay her tuition, as a loan. Because of that money and her job, Yuri was able to stay a little while longer.

“I don’t need your sympathy,” she said. But she took the money anyway. 

Way late in November, I went to a local gay bar. I don’t remember which one. After visiting so many for customers, it all starts to look the same.

That’s when I met her.

If Yuri was pretty, Nyala was beautiful. If Yuri was a princess, Nyala was a queen. Flat as a board in the front and in the back, but long, tall and skin that glowed. Short braids curled up in a spiral pattern on her head made her stand out in crowd, be it full of blacks or whites. Nyala was the Empress of the block, the baddest bitch in town, the smartest lady in the club and nearly half a dozen dykes were coming on to her every time I saw her, sitting there at the bar, alone. I didn’t think I had a chance. Then, one day, I walked up to her, joint curled between my fingers. Nyala asked for a roll. I gave it to her. She asked me if I wanted a drink. I told her I didn’t drink. She flashed those fire ring eyes at me and smiled, “I don’t drink neither.” Then, she asked me if she could take me out to dinner. I told her it had to be vegetarian. “I don’t do meat.” Nyala smiled again, teeth so bright they blew out every light in the club. Not a cavity in them. “I don’t neither,” she said.

What were the odds?

She said, “Let’s go.” I didn’t even think twice. We went out for Chinese food and we talked. We drank juice and laughed. She asked me why I was at the bar alone, I told her I was trying to get over rejection. “She cute?” she asked. “Yeah,” I admitted. “Too bad,” Nyala declared, back straight, arm out, like the sentence of a judge that had spoken, “She don’t know what she’s missing. But it don’t matter, her loss, my gain.” She put down her glass of guava juice and paid for dinner. “You,” she said, “You coming home with me tonight.”

I went to bed with her that very same day.  And boy, was she smart! She had three degrees, she was a Social Worker, she had a Law Degree, she worked for the City, she was an active member in the Black Panther Party, she did charity work at the local mosque and she had a dozen contacts on City Council, and knew the Public Defender personally. And on top of all that, she organized retreats and camps for inner city youth, while, at the same time, organizing monthly protest matches for everything from foreign policies to race relations. She even connected with a few Native American groups, who would call her up, every time the government started giving them trouble.

And at the end of the day, she still made time for me.

She gave me roses. Roses! Nobody had ever given me roses before!

And she was okay with my choice of job. She didn’t believe it was right, but she didn’t want to tell me what to do. She got that if she wanted more of my time, she’d have to pay for it. So, she’d pay me $50 dollars a month, plus food stamps for me to be her girlfriend.

She even wanted me to stop wearing makeup. “It’s not you,” she’d say, “That’s what a man wants. You ain’t with a man anymore. You’re a real woman, now, not a barbie doll.”

I was over the moon. I had a Yuri as a friend and Nyala as the love of my life. What more could I ask for?

On New Year’s Eve, I was out hooking when I got attacked and nearly killed by a John in the back alley. I stumbled back to the dorm, bleeding, in pain, with marks around my neck. Yuri, seeing me in pain, took me to the hospital. I was angry that the hospital made me pay $2000 dollars. That was money I didn’t have. I was also angry for what that man did to me. For all the trouble he caused, the least he could do was pay me.

When we got back the dorm, Yuri put me to bed and asked me some questions.

“Does this happen often?” she asked.

When I told her the truth, she tried to convince me that she could get me a job at the University.

That’s when I started telling her everything. How I was an illegal immigrant with a fake ID. I just needed to get my degree so I can go back to Canada and work, where I actually am a person and they have records of my existence. I tried to explain that nobody wanted to hire me. I’m ugly and the last time I tried to get work (at nearby diner), the manager tried to cop a feel. Then, there’s the questions about where I’m from, people start getting suspicious. I figured there’s no point, I won’t be able to anything until I get my degree. 

Yuri stayed quiet for a while, thinking. Then, she said, “I know I can help you.”

“How?” I asked, “You know a job where they won’t ask questions?”

Yuri took a deep breath and said, “I want to train you to fight, to protect yourself from your clients.”

She told me that her father once said that the tradition in their family, behind the sword fighting, was that it was sometimes good and right to do what should not be done.

Japanese culture is all about doing what should be done. Standing together, never turning your back on what is expected of you. Trying to be the best at what is expected of you. That is our culture. However, my family has a recent history of doing the wrong thing, only once, but for the good of Japan. It started after the Meiji Revolution, my great-grandfather, was twelve years old, handsome… he was a noble. I won’t bother telling you his rank, you couldn’t understand anyways.

Ah Yuri, I loved her so much, but man, could she be patronizing.

The samurai were dead. They used to be important and powerful, but now, they had nothing. How ironic, the nobles didn’t help them then. I wonder, what happened later, was it justice for our sins?

Justice? Sins? Yuri, cut the stereotypical mystical mumbo-jumbo and talk to me.

My story isn’t a Hollywood fantasy about what they think Japan is all about. I’m asking a very hard question. Believe me, you couldn’t understand, so please, shut up and listen.

Sheesh, you don’t have to be so-

Shut up!

Okay, fine.

My great-grandfather was different. One day, he saw an older man on the road through his window. His father and mother were occupied with their own affairs at the time. He asked one of his servants why the man was carrying a sword. The servant said the man was going to turn his sword in to the government. Back then, the government made it illegal for people to carry swords and use them, the only exception being the police and the army.

It was their way of breaking the samurai, to show them who was in control. That’s my opinion, of course, I have my own pred-, pred-

Prejudices?

Thank you. My great-grandfather, instead of ignoring the older man, instead of letting him go and turn in his sword, told his servants to bring the man into his house for supper. The servants were upset. Their master wasn’t acting the way he should. He was doing something very bad by talking and eating with the older man, like an equal. It wasn’t done.

Worse, my grandfather asked the older man to train him. To teach him how to fight. My great-grandfather was a noble, he wasn’t supposed to fight. He wasn’t supposed to work. He was supposed to guess the kind of incense that was presented to him. He was supposed to know about court dressing. He was supposed to stay idle. He didn’t.  Nobles see it as their duty, even today, to preserve Japanese culture. By learning from the older man, my Great-Grandfather was able to pass on what he learned, without defying the government to people in his family. Unlike commoners, he would be able to practice without the prying eyes of the law.

Commoners?

Yes, people like you. People who aren’t noble.

Well, ain’t you just the stuck-up-

That’s what I mean when I say my family has always had a history of doing the wrong thing for the sake of the good of the nation.

Let me give you a later example, my father, as a noble, wasn’t supposed to fight in the army. He was the heir to our clan. He didn’t have to risk his life. But, because of the fighting skills and battle tactics learned from that samurai my Great-Grandfather took in, he enlisted in the army and he was proficient.

You mean he was the best.

He was proficient. He helped save the lives of his comrades and his actions inspired pride in the Japanese people. He was decorated by the Emperor. Even after our defeat, he still stood proudly, his head held high and everywhere he went in the country, even the Americans would nod his way. He didn’t have his title anymore or his privileges. The Americans took that away from him.

But, unlike the rest of the nobles, he wasn’t useless or a remnant of a bygone era. He was a reminder of our country’s strength and courage. He was a reminder of the strength, the intelligence and yes, even the stereotypical wisdom, that Japan had to offer the world. They couldn’t take that away from him.

But my father didn’t stop at doing one wrong thing. One, was for the good of his country. But the second, no, the second is a reminder of why it is so important for us to do what we should. He taught me how to fight.

My brother didn’t want to learn how to fight. He didn’t to have anything to do with nobility and tradition. He hated Japan. He loved everything Western. He killed himself because my parents put too much pressure on him.

My father hated that. My brother was supposed to learn how to fight, it was tradition, he was supposed to preserve that tradition. Instead, his failure made my father do the wrong thing again. He taught me how to fight.

Now, teaching women fighting was popular enough in olden times. But Japan was different for a long time. It’s important for our men to know that they’re in charge, because that is the nature of things. It’s in our religion, much like Christianity.

That hate on for women doesn’t come from Jesus.

Stop interrupting me and let me finish. Very well, then, much like Christian religious tradition, happy?

Yes.

In any case, it appears that I must do the wrong thing. That is, teach you how to fight, for the right reasons. Because your life is at stake.

I pretended to let her think she could do this for free. But, I went to find Nyala, who promised to get Yuri a job as a file clerk in her office.

By this point, Nyala and I had an understanding, I couldn’t show up to Nyala’s workplace. I wasn’t allowed to meet her outside of where she says. And I couldn’t be seen at public events with Nyala.

In January, Yuri started training me in hand to hand combat. With each passing lesson, I got “hurt” less at work.

In March, Yuri started working at Nyala’s office. Part-time. I liked Yuri because of her hard work ethic. While others in the dorm were drinking, having sex, partying and drinking some more, Yuri and I were in the library reading, in our dorm room studying, working at our jobs, going to classes, training, doing extra work with study groups and bothering our professors for extra help. There was no room for slacking off. We had to do our best.

In June, I took a break from working the streets. (I’d saved enough money to last the year). Yuri used this free time to teach me how to write in Hiragana and Katakana. She encouraged me to take extra classes. I was sure she wanted me to die of a heart attack before 19. To get back at her, I pushed her to take advanced English classes. Yuri tried to refuse, but I guess her pride got the better of her, so, she agreed.

In September, I started working again. Nyala explained that she was a Black Muslim. “It’s not you personally,” she breathed, “It’s just our relationship isn’t right. It’s a betrayal of everything I stand for. We’re two women. Black and white. It’s a sin.”

I hated that. But, Nyala was easy in bed and the best girlfriend I’d had to date, so, I stayed.

In October, Yuri paid me back my loan. One day, I found three swords in Yuri’s suitcase and I asked about them. Yuri lost it. She slapped me and yelled at me. I’d never seen her that angry before, ever.

That night, I stayed out all night. I went to find Nyala and asked if I could move in with her. Nyala refused, “I don’t want to explain you to my friends and coworkers.”

So, the next day, I went back to Yuri who didn’t talk to me. Heartbroken, I told myself that at least, I had Nyala.

That November of 1982, I asked to switch dorm rooms. I also wrote an apology letter to Yuri. In it, I explained that I’d move out, so she could have her space.

Yuri blew up at me, again. “Why do you have be so agreeable! Why can’t you be rude and lazy like everyone else around here! Why do you keep trying to be kind to me? I’m not going to sleep with you!”

I tried to explain that while, yes, I’d love to sleep with her, I could settle for being her friend. And admittedly, I liked having Yuri around, because she believed in me and made me feel good about myself.

Yuri, still upset and frustrated, told me she’d let me stay with her and accepted my apology.

In December, Yuri brought out one of the swords. She told me that she lied way back when she said she would teach me everything she knew about fighting. As for the swords, she demanded that “I keep that knowledge to myself.”

“Let me guess,” I said, “I’ll have to break that promise too, won’t I?”

“Eventually.”

“Figured as much.”

Then, on Valentine’s day. Something happened. I stumbled into a local Catholic Church. I was upset and angry about the past and the pain that wouldn’t go away. The parish priest, Father George heard me crying and came over to talk to me.

I got upset. The last person I wanted to talk to was a priest.

Instead of leaving me, he sat on the opposite side of the church, in the pew opposite me. I was expecting a lecture. What I didn’t expect were the words, “So, where you from?” I told him, he listened. He didn’t call me a liar, he didn’t get angry, he didn’t get upset, he just sat there and listened. That made me want to talk more, which made him listen more. After three hours of listening to me talk. The only words he said were, “God loves you and He wants to help you.”

I stared at the priest like he was crazy. “I’m not lying,” he said, “It’s right here in the Bible. Look, here…and…there.” And well, heck, it was there. Nearly twelve years with the nuns and I never knew that was even in the Bible.

And believe it or not, by the end of the night, I’d found Jesus.

In late February, I started going back to church. It felt…weird. Real weird. But, something inside me made me stay. It also made me want to share what I had with everyone around me. So, I told Yuri about Jesus and Mary.

Yuri got upset at me. Again.

“You stole that idea from us!” she screamed.

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

I didn’t understand, but I wanted to defend myself so I showed her the Bible. Yuri finished it in a week and got so excited. She wanted to come to church with me so she could talk to the priest in charge.

Everything was going great. It had to end at some point, right? It always does for me. In March, these representatives of the Catholic Church finally tracked me down to California. I’d been on the run from them since I was twelve.

In mid-March, I called up Nyala to tell her I found Jesus. Nyala just hung up the phone.

In June, Yuri found Jesus. Even though I’d found God, I worked the streets, I thought the Church would fall through for me.

In July, I was attacked by a John with a switchblade. He tried to kill me. Thanks to Yuri, I wound up killing him. I stumbled home to Yuri, who took me to see Father George. I told the priest I needed to turn myself in, the Priest told me it was self-defence.

“Besides,” he said, “The police won’t list to you. They’ll abuse you.”

Yuri chose that moment to remind of what was right then and there. If I turned myself in, the Church representatives who were after me, would use that as an excuse to lock me away in one of their institutions.

Yuri also told me not to worry.

Real reassuring.

Father George told me that he didn’t judge me. He knew that I couldn’t get another job. He asked me how much longer I needed to work and how long it would take to finish my degree. I told him I wouldn’t be able to graduate until the next year. Father George got upset at that. He said he knew he couldn’t judge me, and yet he knew what the Bible teaches. He asked me if I had a lesbian relationship. I told him mine was over. I didn’t tell him who with. I refused to rat Nyala out. He asked if I continued to see women clients. I told him I did. Taking a deep breath and letting out a huge sigh, the priest told me that from now on, I can only sell myself to men. Then, weirdly changing the conversation topic, he asked me what my qualifications were, besides my abilities in math and accounting.

I explained that I knew Japanese and could read and write hiragana and katakana. Father George looked like he got an idea, but he told us both to go home.

I was afraid and upset, but I went home that night with Yuri.

In late July, I got a call. Nyala called me and told me I had AIDS. She also told me that I was now a ward of the Catholic archdiocese of Quebec and would be put into their custody. It was the only warning I got.

That same day, I went to find Father George, who asked the local Bishop to give me protection until the hearing. The two men worked for me. While they couldn’t build a case against the Church, they worked to prove that I had changed and that I was a faithful member of my local church community. Father George encouraged me to go back and finish my degree, no matter what.

Because of my AIDS, the priest encouraged me to contact all of my clients that I knew by name and number. That narrowed down the list to a few of my regulars. Scared and afraid of their reactions, that same day I left letters at the fifteen addresses I had in my book, both men and women, explaining what happened to me.

Days after, I walked around my usual spots, telling the Johns and Janes I recognized to get tested. Most of them reacted violently to me. I thought that all of it -the whole situation- was punishment for my sin and that now, I had to make up for all my evil behaviour. 

In August of 1983, my hearing took place. It was “she’s a crazy and evil lesbian whore” vs. “she’s now with the church and getting her degree, see, she’s changing her life,” your honour. Father George was the one who pointed out in court that I learned Japanese and that I truly wanted to get off the streets and that I was clean.

The representatives from the church came to speak with me in private after the hearing. They mentioned my AIDS and encouraged me to think of my future. They were insistent that I needed to make amends for what I’d done.

What they said got to me. I’ll admit it. It still does. 

Later in August, the two lawyers, mine and theirs met to propose a deal. The representatives from Quebec pressured me into joining the Church. They said that because of my condition, no one else would have anything to do with me. They said they would accept me being transferred into the custody of a Jesuit missionary at Father George’s request.

In September, I went to talk to said Jesuit Priest, Father Olivier. “Despite it not being what you might want to hear,” he said, “The representatives from our Church are correct.” He encouraged me to think about my salvation. He told me that when I graduate, I would accompany him and another Priest to Japan, where Olivier was conducting missionary work. He told me that that was what God wanted for me. He got me a job in a local jewelry store, keeping the books for only two days a week. (It would pay the rest of my school fees and for the flight ticket). I still prostituted myself on the side because I wasn’t making enough money. I didn’t tell the good Father. Then, I started work at the jewelry store and I finished my degree.

In October, I started to go to church regularly. I started going to Bible studies and I tried to make friends. I didn’t get very far.

That all changed by December of 1983, everybody warmed up to me when they heard I was going to take my vows. I started getting invited to the homes of the people in the congregation. It was like my past life didn’t matter anymore. Suddenly, everybody took me seriously. People nodded at me in Church, people wanted their children to sit beside me, children saw me as a friend, somebody they could trust. I was a “good” person because I was going to dedicate my life to God.

But, the closer I moved towards God, the farther Yuri went away from me. She told me flat out that she didn’t believe I’d follow through with my vows.

In January, Father Olivier started making arrangements for me to take my vows at a convent in Japan, far away from the Church’s grasp in the USA and Canada, he said. He told me it would be better for me in Japan because the church wouldn’t have quite the same level of contacts or authority. By then, I was almost finished my degree. 

In April, I graduated from Haas with a degree in accounting. I went to pack up and said my goodbyes to Yuri. Yuri was still not convinced that I would go through with it. Father George gave me a journal. He couldn’t think of anything else to give me. The man who owned the Jewelry store, an Italian-American, gave me a silver ring for my ceremony. (He had deducted some money from my wages to pay for it). Father Olivier promised to bless the ring once I’d taken my final vows.

In May, I was in Japan. I became an aspirant. Putting on the veil felt like a cleansing rainstorm. Like I was finally getting rid of all of my sins. I sent a letter to Yuri telling her about the experience. A week later, I received the gift of an honour blade and a sword of the highest quality. Yuri said in her letter that she was happy for me. But, I sensed she was secretly jealous. She said in the letter that she’d been joining me on the same field, but noted that instead of an active life, she would make a quiet, cloistered one, so as to enhance her devotion to God. From then on, I knew that Yuri and I were competing for God’s love. It was a one-sided competition. And it was a game I didn’t want to play.

When Yuri did decide to open up about her family. She mentioned that they were royal priests. So, I guess it made sense for her to want to be a nun.

From May of 1984 to May of 1986, Yuri worked on becoming a nun in a cloister. I worked at the local Catholic high school, teaching mathematics. It was a fun job and I loved my students. I could listen to them talk about the latest crazes and kawaii culture all day. Then, I became a postulant. The experience was real weird, but it felt like with each step I was getting closer to God and farther away from everything that I used to be. It was mystifying.

After that, the Monsignor called me into his office one day. I thought I was in trouble. Instead, he took out a wooden practice blade and went thirty rounds with me. He said I was good, but that I needed more practice. For the whole of 1985, I prayed and taught, but I also started training with the Monsignor. Yuri and I were still exchanging letters back then. I also started learning Kanji, which was hell.

Sometime in 1986, Yuri called me on the phone, all the way from California, asking to know where I was. She wanted to come visit. I told her, and I was overjoyed to do so.

That October, we had one last battle. Yuri won it. I got a broken leg. Afterwards, the Monsignor lectured me on how disappointed he was in my performance. So much for biblical encouragement.  

In February of 1987, I became a novice. After that, Yuri’s letters suddenly stopped. To this day, I don’t know why that happened. I didn’t know what God wanted for me, so I didn’t go forward with my final vows. To pass the time, I started learning Latin and Koine Greek.

In 1988, Yuri sent me one last letter. What it said broke my heart forever. It said that we could never ever be in contact again. When I got that letter, I fell to the floor and cried in anger and in despair. That Easter Sunday of 1988, I prayed to God. I asked Him if He wanted me to lose my best friend. I asked that if He wouldn’t let me have Yuri in my life, that He show me a better way.

And that is the story of Yuri, Nyala and I.

Me and Self-Hate McGee


TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of suicide.

To say I have a lot of self-hate is an understatement. I have been abused by more than twenty people. Take that in for a moment. And I have been abused every which way. Financially, sexually, emotionally, psychologically and physically.

My parents-

Isn’t that how most of these posts you find on the internet start, with that word : parents. I think Freud would be proud of me. My life is certainly something he could’ve cooked up out of one of his drug sessions.

Fun fact: Freud did drugs. Honestly, how do you explain some of his ideas?

Anyways, back to the main program. My parents didn’t try to help me build up my self-esteem. Normal self-esteem, as I have learned from research on the internet is built up through finding what you’re good at and putting your efforts into that.

My parents didn’t do that for me. My parents would allow me to be abused and then, even though I was depressed and suicidal, they would force me into activities.

I want you to imagine your parents shaming you and controlling you for everything. My parents even forced me to get employment at a young age instead of taking care of my well-being. I wasn’t allowed to find out what I was good at. I was told what I would be good at. And if I didn’t perform, I would be shamed, yelled at or guilted out.

At this time, I want you to seriously take a look at your relationships. Do you operate this way with anyone in your life? If you do, stop. You aren’t doing them any good. You’re helping destroy them.

I will say it again. You are helping destroy them.

Right now, my self-esteem is so low, that my self is operating the same way. My self is trying to force me to do activities that I’m not entirely sure I have interest in. I think that’s because my self has learned to operate like my parents. Anything I value becomes evil. Anything I want, is taken away.

For example, my stories here on the blog. I love writing Fanfiction. One of my all-time favourite things to do is find a mediocre series, come up with a better ending in my head, add in a whole lot of Jesus and publish it on my blog so that other people will stay away from unhealthy Fanfiction.

Because I’m sick right now, my stories (in particular « Gone ») are what’s most precious to me.

But, because my self-hate runs so deep, my mind worked to sabotage my stories. I won’t explain how because it’s embarrassing, but I want you to know that this all happened because my parents used shame and control on me.

It’s because of what my parents did to me (and others too) that I couldn’t get out of bed this morning. And that I spent nearly an hour lying on the floor, crying and wishing I was dead.

Parents, I’m going to say this:

The next time your kid picks up a book you think is beneath them. Shut up and let them read it.

Parents, the next time you decide to live vicariously through your children. Stop yourself. Let them live their own lives.

Parents, do not enroll your child in a babysitting course while they’re in elementary school because you think it’s about time they started making money.

Parents, do not sell your child’s services to a parent at school whom your child has never met. And drag your child to perform for that other parent because you « think your child is lazy. » True story, my Dad did that to me my first year of high school.

Parents, do not allow your children to be constantly abused then expect them to perform up to your standards, period.

Parents, do not force your children to visit grandma and grandpa, because they are related to you. You know grandma and grandpa are abusive. Stop doing that.

Otherwise, your kids are going to need so much therapy later in life, it won’t even be funny.

Take it from me, as I lie on the floor, thinking that nothing I do is worth anything, as my mind plots more ways to destroy my happiness.

Gone – Chapter 28

« I was so fed up with him, I walked to the cave. Was the friendship for real? Was he just faking? Was it all just a twisted game? I was angry. It was one thing for Randall to play a game with me, but now he was playing with Sadie. I felt sick just thinking about her. »

Here is my Outlander fanfiction. Tonight’s pairing is Black Jack Randall/OC. The following story may be TRIGGERING to some because of mentions of rape, incest, graphic sex and drug abuse. Viewer discretion is advised.

Chapter 28 – Ganbatte kudasai 

I was so fed up with him, I walked to the cave. Was the friendship for real? Was he just faking? Was it all just a twisted game? 

I was angry. It was one thing for Randall to play a game with me, but now he was playing with Sadie. I felt sick just thinking about her.  

Sadie was a person. A human being. She wasn’t a… 

I almost passed out. 

A…gift

I wish Yuri was here, she’d know what to do.  

My heart stopped. I hated thinking about her. Thinking about Yuri knocks the wind out of me. 

I put my bag down only to hear somebody yelling outside. 

Walking out of the cave, I put my hand over my face to block the snow.   

“Hello down there!” called the last person I wanted to see.  

Randall was at the top of the canyon. He waved his hand, “I said hello down there!”   

He acted like I was supposed to respond. 

I was sick and tired of his harassment. I was sick and tired of dealing with him. I wanted to punch his face in.  

I was being pursued by him. I was tired of it. I wanted to feel safe.  

Being with Yuri had always made me feel safe and at home.  Looking up at Randall, I called out to him, in Japanese, “From now on, I will only speak in Japanese.” 

My words hit him like lightening. 

He went quiet. The horse reared a little. For the Captain, the sounds coming from my lips was a shot from a loaded gun straight into his head. 

I looked down at the ground, then, I looked back up.    

He got off his horse and climbed down to the bottom of the canyon, “Stop this silly game of yours,” he hollered. 

But I wasn’t giving in. “Nihongo de hanasemasu ka?” (Could you please speak in Japanese) I yelled. I might be angry, but I still refused to be impolite. He was, after all, my immediate superior.  

Ko-chikoi. (Come here!)” I called, gesturing with my hand. 

“Kou…chii…kou…ii?” he said. “What the hell does that mean?” 

I motioned for him to come with my hand. “Ko-chikoi…come here,” I said. 

“Kou…chii-” 

Moichidoshiro (Do it again!)!” 

Randall, stunned, stared blankly at me from across the stream. 

During this conversation, I’d refused to bow. Didn’t want the Captain to have a reason to enjoy the situation, you know? 

Randall, stunned, stared blankly at me. I yelled some more in Japanese. Slowly, he started to repeat them after me.  

But, then, he turned sour. “You are behaving like a spoiled child!” he yelled.  

I refused to give in. I kept yelling at him, making motions with my hands. I even slowed down my syllables, just to make it easier for him. 

He wasn’t bending neither.  

“Come home!” he thundered, “That’s an order!” 

I shook my head, “Iie.” 

“I could have you hanged,” he barked, walking back to his horse. “Would you like that?” 

With that, I turned my back on him, showing my disrespect. I was tired, I needed to lie down after all that. 
 
The horse’s echo told me that Randall was gone. For two days, I kept to myself in the cave, my horse waiting with me. 
 
On the third morning, I went to the stream. Washing my face, I heard someone call out to me. 
 
« Hello. Ko…chi…ko…ii… », he said.  

I winced internally.  

« Kore, sore, watashi wa… » he added, painfully. 
 
Looking ahead, Randall was standing there. His horse was at the top of the canyon. 
 
I was surprised. I didn’t expect him to be back. Besides, he wouldn’t try to learn Japanese. There was no value in it for him. 
 
Maybe he thought I was ready to give in. Or, he thought he could sweet talk me into speaking English. 
 
Like hey he will. 
 
« Konnichi wa. » 
 
He smiled, « Kou-nitch-chi-wa ». 
 
I was in shock. There was no confusion anymore. And, his pronunciation was getting better. Randall had come to learn. But, why? 
 
Well, I guess I can try to teach him.  
 
« Good day, » I said. 
 
Randall blinked, smiling. « So, you have tired of this little game? ». 
 
I shook my head, « Iie » I said. 
 
Randall sneered, « Are you trying to confound me? » 
 
I shook my head, « Iie. » 
 
That’s when he got it. « Iie means no. » 
 
« Hai ». I nodded my head. 
 
« H-hai, » he muttered. 
 
« Yes, » I said. 
 
« Hai means yes? » he asked. 
 
« Hai, » I said, « Yes. » 
 
« Koni….Koni… »
 
« Konnichi wa? » 
 
« Yes, that. » 
 
Now it was my turn to smile. 
 
He stood there, sneer on his face. He turned to go, but he stopped. He turned back to look at me. 
 
He walked through the stream. When he got to my side, he bent down. He was now kneeling on the ground, mimicking my sitting. 
 
« Arigato gozimasu (thank you – formal)« . 
 
I felt like crying inside. Finally, the language that I hadn’t spoken in almost six years was now heard again.  
 
He repeated my words and I told him their meaning. By the end of the day, he’d learned basic vocabulary. I, you, we, them, house, city, street, school, teacher, the verb to be, age, man, woman and child. 
 
When I went to turn in for the night, he followed me into the cave. 
 
It bothered me, sure, but I wasn’t going to let him see that. Besides, he’d probably get bored of this whole thing in a day or two. 
 
How wrong I was. 
 
The next morning, Randall woke me up. He was so bright and chipper, I wanted to shoot him. 
 
« Come, come, » he called, « We need not waste any time! » 
 
Groaning, I shoved my blanket off and stumbled around the cave floor. 
 
Randall was already outside washing his face and hands. I joined him. 
 
« To wash, » I said. No English for you, Jack. 
 
He was smiling so much, I thought it would kill him. Sitting on the damp bank of the river, we stretched out our legs.  

Then, for no reason, Randall jumped up. “Shall we go for a ride?” he asked.  

Why not, you know?  

I got up and went to go find my horse.  

“Iie,” Randall said, “Isshonikitekudasai (Please come with me).”  

I followed him to his horse. He held out his hand and motioned for me to jump up. I shook my head, “Iie.” “Dozou osakini.” 

“Me first?” he asked. 

“You first,” I said, in English. 

He frowned but got up on his horse. “I presume you will be walking alongside me?” 

I grinned and jumped up behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist.  

He pulled away from me, breaking my hold around his waist. I was about to pull my hands behind his back when he grabbed onto them.  

Stretching my neck, I watched as he moved my hands to lay on top of the reigns. 

“Grasp them, kudasai,” he muttered.  

I did. Then, he slid his hands under mine. We sat in silence for some time. Then, he whispered something. He whispered it so softly I could barely understand him. 

Mou ichidou itte kudasai (please say it again)” I said, real quiet like.   

He didn’t wait for the translation. “Put your head on my shoulder,” he breathed. 

I did a double take.  

Then, Randall laughed. He shifted himself so he could turn his head towards me. “Do not get your hopes up, Madam, it is simply for the sake of balance.” 

I snorted and put my head where he wanted it. When I did, Randall moved the horse to a slow trot.  

Uma,” I said.  

Uma?” 

“Horse.” 

Randall shifted to look at me again. “And what, pray tell, Madam Jackson, is “riding.” 

This time I didn’t make him wait for me to introduce a word. “Bajou,” I explained. “Bajou.” 

The Captain smirked and repeated the words. 

“Now, Madam Jackson, what is-” 

I cut him off, “Shu NInori.” 

Nani (what) ?” 

“The Lord’s Prayer,” I explained. 

Randall looked back at me in disgust. I smiled sweetly at him. 

Then, he sneered, “I see. So that’s your game is it?” 

Whatever do you mean?” I asked. 

“You are hoping to dissuade me from learning this language of yours. Madam Jackson, your intentions are so clear even the greatest of fools would see through them. I expected better from you.” 

It took another five minutes before he cracked.  

“Very well, I will learn The Prayer.” 

We were galloping now. As he repeated the words after me, we jumped over rocks, stumps, bushes, small animals.  

Randall sped off across the forest floor and into an open field. The ground was covered in shining snow. The sun was high in the sky. No clouds to drown it out.  

Come evening, he mastered the prayer. He kept asking me to repeat the words. I did it over and over again until I was exhausted, and he knew every line by heart.   

On the sixth day, it was December. 

Randall and I went fishing. As I was stabbing the fish at the bottom of the river, Randall asked me. “And what of Madam, Sir, Lord, Lady? What are the words for rank and station?” 

I explained that I would call him taii (captain) I also explained that because of his rank, I could also call him taichou (commanding officer) 9. He got a kick of learning that I was his immediate inferior, a meshita. Before he could finish laughing, I pointed out he was Thomas’s inferior.  

That shut him up.  

He then asked about other titles. “Taishou is General” I explained, “Though you would probably want to address Lord Thomas as Tomasu-kyou. Kyou is lord.” 

“And what of esquire? What is the term for that?” 

I had to think for a minute. Was there even a word for that in Japanese? I’d have to look it up in a dictionary.  

I gave it my best shot, though, “E..sukuwai…a?” 

Randall frowned at me, “You are making that up.” 

“Yes,” I admitted. 

He stood up and started pacing. I could tell he was angry. 

“Calm down, Randaru-donna.” 

He spun around. “What?” he hissed, “What did you call me?” 

“I said, Randaru-donna.”  

Randall grabbed his sword, “How dare you mock me!” 

I held up my hands, “Please calm down, I don’t mean any disrespect.” 

“Liar. You butchered my name!” 

“I didn’t. The language we’re speaking doesn’t have the sounds to make up your name. My name is An-do-re-a Jya-ku-son, see?” 

That calmed him down. “Recite my full name and title.” 

“What?” 

“That’s an order.” 

“Jonasan Woruburuton Randaru Esukwaia,” I said, exhausted from saying it.  

“Again.” 

You’ve got to be kidding me.  

I glared at him as I said it. He was doing this out of sheer spite. 

After I went the second round with his name, Randall became cheerful again.  

“And how do you say ‘Madam Jackson’?” 

That was a subject that made me uncomfortable. “Considering my station, Miss would be just fine. You’d call me Jyakuson-san. San can be used for Madam or Sir.” 

The look on his face showed he wasn’t satisfied with that answer. “The word, please.” 

“You could call me Jyakuson-fujin. It means wife, Mrs. or madam. Though, it really wouldn’t make sense to call me that, you know? I’m not married.”  

Randall agreed. He dropped the subject for the rest of the day. 

Then, before we went to bed, he asked me, “What does danna mean?” 

“Boss or Sir,” I explained.  

Randall sneered at me.  

I ignored him and went to sleep. 

On the seventh day, like always, I woke up in the middle of the night. Deciding I needed some air, I left the cave to go walking by the river. 

After the walk, I went back to the cave. Randall woke up, drawing his sword. “What are you doing up?”  

was having trouble sleeping. I needed some air,” I explained, in Japanese. 

Randall put his sword away. He didn’t say anything. He just watched me lie back down on my blanket.  

I closed my eyes. 

“How does one say good night?” 

I decided to keep my answer formal. After all, I was his teacher. 

Oyasuminasai,” I whispered, before closing my eyes again.  

“And how am I to greet you in the morning?” 

I opened my eyes again. It seemed Randall was now going for sleep deprivation tactics. Son of a- 

Remembering God, I smiled and said, Ohayo gozaimasu.”  

In the morning, Randall was gone.  

I went outside. I found a smooth patch of snow and mud near the stream. I carved some kanji (chinese characters that make up the Japanese language) in the mud.  

Without thinking, Ave Maria slipped out of my mouth.  

“Oi,” a man hollered above me, “Over here, lads. There’s a pretty songbird to be had!” 

Good night, does anybody have anything better to do than- 

Never mind. 

A whole group of men now stood at the top of the canyon. 

I took out my sword from its sheath.  

“Highlander killer!” one man gasped. 

Their legs turned to jelly and they stumbled away. They knew who I was. What I was capable of.  

I hated it, though. I didn’t like people being afraid of me. But, I don’t have much choice, right now. 

When I got back to the cave, I found Randall inside. Standing in a pile beside him were three loaves of bread, a jar full of some type of jam and -of course- a huge wheel of cheese. “Compliments of a loyal subject to the crown,” he grinned.  

Sitting down I thanked him, “Arigato gozaimasu.” 

I clapped my hands together, “Itadakimasu,”. We both dug into the food. I had to fight Randall for a thick piece of cheese. The jam was onion and tasted awful. But, it was free food… 

Afterwards, I turned to Randall and said, Gochochisamadeshita”.  

He looked confused. I explained that you say itadakimasu before a meal and then you say gochochisamadeshita after a meal.  

Randall then asked how to say the word ‘eat’. 

For the rest of the day, we worked on verbs and the present tense. The ones we focused on were to eat, to say, to do, to walk, to run, to drink and to talk.  

He also got to learn some words: meat, fish, wine, bread. 

When I Japanified the word ‘wine’, he got outraged again. Seriously, was he really going to get mad at the Japanese for not having a word for wine? 

By the next day, Randall refused to make sentences without knowing all the words. He was a nightmare of a perfectionist. 

That day, I was feeling a bit tired, so I taught him how to keep track of the days, the months and the years. Then, we moved onto one of my favourite subjects: numbers and counting.  

He could barely keep up with me there. There were so many to learn. 

Throughout the day, I found that we were both more relaxed around each other. No glares, no sneers. He didn’t pull away when I nudged him in the elbow. 

Later, in the early evening, I was trying to write in my journal. Then, he snuck up beside me and lay down on the ground, beside me. He put his arm around my waist. 

I didn’t want him to get to me, so I didn’t even blink when he did. 

When he started to stroke my hair, I elbowed him in the chest.  

I turned around under his arm to land on my back, looking up at the sky. 

Randall asked, “Kore wa sky, sun, moon to stars nihon-go de nan desu ka (what are… in Japanese)?” 

When I told him, he then asked what “heaven” was.  

“Ten”, I explained, “Means heavens, also sky. If you’re referring to God’s kingdom, you say “Tengoku.” 

“Tengoku,” he breathed. 

We watched the sky turn red. We both knew it was time to go to sleep. 

The next day, when I woke up, I screamed. Randall had his arms around me. I don’t know how that happened. The night before, I went to sleep alone, with him on the opposite side of the cave. 

I darted out of his arms and threw a rock at a very startled Randall. This time, my words were not so Christian.  

“Chikan! (pervert) Sukebe! (letcher)

Randall calmly patted the bump on his forehead. He looked strangely at the blood on his fingers.  

Watashi o hottoite (leave me alone)!” 

He slowly got up from the ground. Then, he folded his arms behind his back and said, in the calmest voice possible, “What did you call me?” 

I refuse to answer,” I said. I was also refusing to explain it in English. 

“Was it…fool?”  

I shook my head. No, he wasn’t getting an answer out of me. 

“Was it…letch?” 

I shook my head, faster. 

“Was it…whoremonger?” 

I moved to leave the cave, but Randall ran in front of me. He blocked the entrance. “I refuse to let you go until you tell me exactly, and in the greatest detail what you just said.”  

I took out my sword. 

Instead of flinching, Randall glided his hand across the tip of the blade. “How do you say beautiful?” 

Stunned, I mumbled, “Kirei.” 

“The sword wa kirei.” 

Then, he stared at me and said, “Andrea is beautiful.” 

I snorted, “Anata wa, usotsuki da (you are a liar).” 

Randall then asked me, “What is the word for ugly?” 

I shoved him away. I went to wash my face in the river. 

Then, he came up behind me, grabbing me in his arms. 

As he was dragging me, he explained, “We’re going to go on a little venture out in the countryside.” 

He didn’t tell me we were headed for Father Bain’s church.  

I’d never been inside it. It was small, but homey. It was simple, but you could tell by the way the floors were clean and the linen on the altar was fresh, that Bain had put a lot of time and effort into God’s house. 

We made ourselves comfortable on the same pew. 

Today, Randall wanted to know what you call hymns in Japanese. Then, we talked about saints, saint names, the Bible and God in Japanese. 

I had to explain the difference between what you call a Shinto god and Our Father. Then, the conversation moved to family. 

We talked about how Jesus’ earthly otousan (father – respectful form) was Jozefu. And the conversation about fathers, led to a conversation about siblings.  

Explaining that there was no Japanese term for “middle child”, that I knew of, got him angry again. I told him he should just suck it up and settle for being both aniki (elder brother) and otouto (younger brother)

Then, he placed his hands on mine and asked, in the sweetest voice possible, “And of writing this language of ours?” 

“No can do, Jack,” I smirked, “You’d just use that information to read my journal.” 

“Madam Jackson,” he gasped, “You would deprive me, a loyal subject of the Crown, access to such information.” 

He pinned me to the pew, “I insist upon your teaching me for the sake of national security.” 

I started laughing. I couldn’t help it.  

Warai,” I said, “To laugh.”  

Randall was seething, now. 

It was so funny, “Waraigoe. Laughter.” 

That’s when he picked me up. He had me cradled in his arms. Then, he marched towards the door of the church. 

Turning my head, I saw Father Bain. He blinked at both of us, then he ran past us out of the church. 

When we came outside, I was still giggling. All the townspeople circled us, staring at me and Randall.  

“Shut up,” Randall hissed. 

I glared at him. Still, I got up on my horse. “I was just kidding around. You don’t have to be so upset.” 

Randall glared up at me, “Hold your tongue.” 

From the swarm of people, a little boy ran up to Randall’s horse, big rock in hand. His little fingers launched the stone at Randall’s face. He yelled something in Gaelic at Randall.  

Then, Randall grabbed his little hand, crushing it in his own.  

The people in the crowd stared in horror.   

A look of pure hatred crossed my face.  

Randall took his other hand and raised it high above his head. Then, he looked at me.  

He froze.  

The crowd stared at him, at me, at the both of us. 

The little boy struggled in Randall’s grasp. 

The Captain bent down to the boy’s face and whispered, “Go.” 

He released the boy’s hand. The kid ran off to hug the skirts of his mother. 

Randall turned towards me, “Come.”  

We left. 

I didn’t know what to think.  

On the way back, I taught him the command tense. He was still sore from earlier. He refused to look at me. Instead, he mumbled the verbs I told him.  

The second we got back to the forest, I tackled him to the ground. We rolled down a steep hill and I landed on top.  

“Take that,” I said, in English this time.  

Randall looked like he wanted to scream. He wiggled under me. “Get off of me,” he barked, “That is an order!” 

Laughing, I told him he takes himself too seriously. 

When I got off of him, he tackled me, then pushed me to the ground. His body slowly crushed me. His eyes looked into mine, then, like he got hit by lightening, he pulled away. 

He looked disgusted. Though, I’m not sure why. 

On the tenth day, we talked about gender. Men and women have a different way of speaking in Japanese. 

When I tried to use female speech for myself, Randall said, “I demand you use male speech.” 

I blinked, “That’s not correct, though.”  

Randall blinked back at me, “You can hardly call yourself a woman.” 

That got my back up. “I am, too.” 

“A woman is a stupid, empty-headed thing that cackles, giggles and cavorts around in skirts that could feed over a thousand hungry mouths.” 

“And, I’m out of here.” 

“They are spoiled, behave like children and nag their fathers, brothers and husbands until they get their way.” 

I walked away, he pulled me close towards him.  

“You are the very opposite of a woman.” 

I crossed my arms, “That’s a terrible thing to say.” 

Randall took me by the shoulders, “I order you to speak as a man. You have probably always wanted to be one, yes?” 

My lips were shaking as I started to say those words, “Boku wa (I [male pronoun] am)…” 

I hate to admit it but saying them made me feel like an equal. By using those words, I adopted a voice that’d be heard, that’d be taken seriously.  

Randall laughed, delighted with my discomfort. Then, he paused, “I have just come to the realization that you have been teaching me womanly speech this entire time.” 

Come day eleven, Randall could tell present and past tense apart.  

Sitting next to me by a tree, the Captain put his arm around my shoulder. I leaned back on him to rest. I spent the rest of the afternoon teaching him emotion words. 

“Although,” I started, “I don’t see why you would need to…” 

He ignored me, “What is to be ill? What is tired?  

Warui, tsukareta.” 

He quickly muttered the words, then he asked about body parts. Already, I knew where the conversation was headed. I just had to wait.  

Oh, he tried to make it seem like genuine interest. He even asked so innocently. But then, he asked what “sex” was.  

When he saw the look on my face, he started asking about dirty words.  

I slapped him, gently, on the shoulder, “Get your mind out of the gutter!” 

He grabbed my hand, “Why you little-!” 

Then, almost as soon as he was angry, he stopped. 

Breathing hard, he looked down, “I…apologize for my actions.” He looked almost afraid. 

He settled himself back against the tree. I moved away from his body.  

I hated it. This. The fact I can’t trust the Captain because he can snap at any moment. 

*** 

On day twelve, I woke up to find Randall holding my sword.  

“I am admiring the workmanship. Very fine.” 

I walked over and grabbed it out of his hands. 

“Where did you procure it?” 

“It was a gift from a friend,” I snapped.  

He backed off. “What is the word for sword?” 

Katana,” I answered, but this time more gently. 

The lesson turned to war words. Dagger, knife, torture, death, war, battle, fight and prison. 

I didn’t want to tell him those words. I wanted to talk about good things, like it says in the Bible. Reluctantly, I gave him the answers he wanted. 

After that, I tried to change the subject. I suggested talking about the fruits of the spirit.  

Randall snorted and ignored the entire lesson. Instead, he pressed me for some more answers, “And what of love? What are the terms for lover, mistress?” 

We compromised on learning the words for friend, comrade and acquaintance.   

But Randall wasn’t giving up without a fight. He pushed me, harder, “And how does one say, “to make love?” 

I shook my head at him, “Your head needs to stop going to the gutter!” 

Instead of getting angry, he was laughing with me. The rest of the day, we rested. We only practiced the words and phrases he knew.  

Randall wanted to learn more but gave in when I encouraged him that the practice would help smooth out his speech.  

By sunset, the Captain reminded me it was time to go. “Your leave is over,” he said, flawlessly, “We need to go home.” 

I packed up my belongings and loaded them onto my horse. Randall watered the horses. When night came, we left, together. 

Randall’s Japanese was very basic, but he’d learned so much in no time flat. I hated to admit it, but he learned it faster than I ever did… 

That night, as I galloped beside him, memories of the language, of the past, came back to haunt me… 

Gone – Chapter 27

« Somewhere in the middle of September, Hawkins busted into our room.  “Captain Jonathan Wolverton Randall, Esquire, summons you to his study on urgent business.”« 

Here is my Outlander fanfiction. Tonight’s pairing is Black Jack Randall/OC. The following story may be TRIGGERING to some because of mentions of rape, incest, graphic sex and drug abuse. Viewer discretion is advised.

Chapter 27 – Winning Her Over 

Somewhere in the middle of September, Hawkins busted into our room.  

“Captain Jonathan Wolverton Randall, Esquire, summons you to his study on urgent business.” 

“Urgent business?” Kendall snorted. 

“Shush your mouth, son,” I said, “Take me to him.” 

When I saw the look on Kendall’s face, I told him not to worry. “Go find Agnes,” I said. 

I followed Hawkins, but was surprised when we both wound up at the General’s dining room.  

When Hawkins opened the door, he bowed to me and left.  

Inside, Randall was sitting at the table, drinking wine. 

“Good evening,” Randall said, “May I offer you some wine?” 

“No thank you, I don’t drink.”  

He looked annoyed.  

“If it’s all the same to you, Captain, I’d like to get straight to business.” 

“That can wait,” Randall barked, “May I offer you something to eat?” 

“No, thank you.” 

He gave me a weird look.  

“And how was your last Sunday?” 

He wanted to know how last Sunday went? This was getting way too weird way too fast. I’m out.  

I walked out of the room and shut the door. Then, I went back to my room.  

The next Monday, I was kneeling in the old stone chapel. Guess who showed up? 

“Madam Jackson,” Randall said, “Let us converse in Latin.” 

I was too tired to tell him to go take a hike.  

How are you feeling?” he asked. 

“Fine,” I said. 

“Yet, you do not sleep.” 

I ignored the comment. There was a long pause before he asked, What interests do you have? 

Where the hey did that come from? “Interests?” I asked. 

“Are there any activities which you prefer above others? Activities which are common for a woman. Such as reading, playing music-” 

“I’m not very well read,” I answered.  

“What then are your interests?” 

“I like music,” I said. 

“Can you play an instrument?” 

“No,” I laughed, “No, no.” 

He looked worried, “Can you sew?” 

I laughed, a little louder, “No.” 

He crossed his arms, Ugly, untalented and over thirty. You are an absolute failure as a woman.” 

“I guess you’re right,” I said, in English.  

“Why can’t you have any children?” he asked. 

“What’s with all the questions?” I asked.  

“Mere…curiosity.” 

“I’ve never bled,” I explained. 

“Does that bother you?” he asked.  

I frowned, “I don’t like to think about it. I’d love a family and k-children, but I can’t.” 

He didn’t say anything. He sat down on the ground next to me.  

We sat there in silence, ‘til he tried to sit in close to me.  

I pushed him away, smiling, “Trying to curry favor with me, Captain?” 

He looked angry. Then, he stopped. He laughed, “Madam Jackson, such an indecent proposal.” We both had another laugh, then we sat there in silence until the sun came up. Then, he went his way and I went mine.  

Next Saturday morning, I woke up and went to work in the kitchen. When I went outside because my chest was bugging me, Captain Randall rode up next to me on a horse.  

“Good morning,” he said, tipping his hat to me.  

“Good morning,” I said.  

He looked lost, but then he smiled at me. It was such a nice smile, too. 

What did he want now? 

“I was wondering if you wished to go riding with me this morning?” 

“But, I’ve got work in the kitchen.” 

He smirked, “Madam Jackson, you would deny me the opportunity to further your education? I wish to show you this fair countryside. As a member of my company, you should make yourself familiar with the highland terrain.” 

I didn’t know what to say to that. 

“It is my obligation as your commanding officer-” 

“I answer to Lord Thomas.”   

And just as I expected, his mouth snapped, “You will do as you are told, you ugly whore!”  

I snorted, “You know, I was wondering when that would come out…that…evil.” 

“Do not judge me, Madam Jackson,” he hissed, “You have no right.” 

I smirked, “I’m not judging you. I’m just pointing something out. That’s all.” 

With next Saturday came October.  

I went out to ride to scout out rebel bands, alone. After a few hours, I decided to stop by my cave and rest up. It would be quiet there and nobody seemed to be following me, so I was hoping not to be disturbed. The cave was damp and cold, but it gave me some shelter against the wind.  

Sitting down on the floor, I made a fire with the twigs I’d collected from the world outside the cave. 

“Good afternoon,” a voice said. “Good afternoon, Captain,” I answered. I didn’t move from where I was crouched down on the wet floor. 

Randall looked around the cave, he touched the wall with his fingers. Then, he scrunched his eyes up at the dirt.  

“Am I needed back at the fort?” I asked. 

Silence. 

He took a few steps towards me, “I…” 

Silence. 

“You…?” 

“I wish to…I wish to apologize.” He said the last part so fast he mumbled it. 

“For what?” I asked. I wasn’t letting him off the hook. 

“For our last conversation!” he hissed. He straightened his spine and changed his tone, “I…apologize…for the comments I made about your appearance.” 

He was sincere. Oh my friggin’ stars he was sincere. At least, that’s what it sounded like. He was apologizing. He’d never done that before. Where? What? How?  

“I am truly sorry, Madam Jackson.” 

I needed to get the hey out of there, I needed to run to a different zip code, I needed-   

“If it is not too much of an inconvenience…” 

God, are You there? I know, I know You’re there. Could You please explain what’s going on? Is it time already for The Rapture?  

“…I would like to invite you to dine with me this evening.” 

No, no, we’re in the past. The Rapture can’t happen. I mean, I suppose He could- 

“….” 

But He wouldn’t, would He?  

“…” 

I should probably talk to Anselm about that. He seems like he’d know the answer. 

“Will you consent to dine with me?” 

Staring up at him, then back and the ground, I said, “I’ll have to think about it.” 

I wanted to refuse, but a small voice inside me told me that maybe, just maybe, Randall was changing. Or at least, trying to change.  

When I got back to the fort, I told Hawkins I’d be meeting with Randall for dinner.  

Hawkins seemed surprised. 

“He’ll be expecting me,” I said, like it made the whole thing not awkward.  

It didn’t. 

When Hawkins led me to the General’s dining room, my eyes nearly jumped out of my head. The table was filled with bread, cheese, fish, meat, eggs, butter and pastries… 

And coffee! 

I pretended to act like I wasn’t impressed by the coffee.  

Randall smirked.  “May I,” he said, pulling out a chair.  

“How chivalrous,” I joked. I sat down in the chair. The dining room was cold. But the chandelier was beautiful. All the candles in the room were lit.  

“Now,” he said, watching me pour a cup of coffee.  

I offered it to him.  

He looked surprised, “No, thank you,” was all he said.  

I put the cup down in front of me and took a nice, long sip.  I sighed. Darn, that coffee was good.  

“I made it myself,” he said. 

Of course, you did. Of course, you did. You are Black Jack Randall, artist, scholar, soldier, officer, gentlemen….  

“Now,” he said, shoving his feet up on the table, “What was your childhood like?” 

What a question. Anselm had said not to tell the Captain too much. I couldn’t lie to Randall, so, I figured telling him parts of what he wanted to hear might be enough. 

“I was in an orphanage,” I said, “I never knew my parents.” 

He nodded. 

“And then,” I coughed, “I became a prostitute and the rest is history.” 

He blinked at me from across the table. He was studying me, like a professor over a complex equation.   

“How about yours?” I asked. 

He sneered, “I do not care for your line of questioning.” 

“You started it,” I snapped. Not off to a great start. I guess Anselm can forget about me becoming friends with Randall anytime soon. Staring into my coffee cup, I heard a laugh. A good, clean, light laugh. I turned to the side. At the very edge of the table, was Randall. And he looked…happy.  

I wanted to run out of the room. 

“I did, did I not?” 

I slurped my coffee, loudly. Maybe that will make me less interesting.  

“I was born in London,” he said. 

“Ha,” I coughed, “Hawkins said you were from Sussex.”  

He shoved his feet off the table and got up. He walked over to my chair, raised his hand, like he was going to hit me.  

But, he stopped.  

What the hey? 

“I don’t get why you’re angry with me.” 

“Do you not? Of course you do-” 

“I don’t see what’s so bad about Sussex.” 

He smirked and relaxed, “Of course you do not.” He walked back over to the edge of the table, “Of course, you are a whore from the colonies.” 

Ignoring the insult, “Could you please explain why you’re angry?” 

“My parents attempted to disguise the way I spoke as a child.” 

Good night.  

“Why?”  

“Someone as ignorant as you could not possibly understand.” 

“Well,” I coughed, “I think your parents were stupid.” 

He looked up at me, “Totally morons.” 

Randall blinked. 

“I mean,” I said, taking another sip of my coffee, “Look at me. I don’t talk like any of you, but I go on.” 

“This conversation is over,” Randall coughed, “Please see yourself out.” 

“Just so you know,” I said, “I wouldn’t have laughed at you if you talked differently from everybody else.” 

The Captain went to the door and opened it, “Good night, Madam Jackson.” 

I sighed. 

Then, sometime in late November, Randall invited me to dinner, again. 

There was less food on the table. A hunk of cheese and a plate of bread. There was wine and -thank you God!- coffee.  

“How are you?” I asked.  

He laughed, “I am well, thank you for asking.” 

He turned away from me, “I presume all is well in the world inside of your room…” 

“Well,” I sighed, “Nobody died.” 

He let out a small chuckle, “I shall take that to mean that you, Corporal Hawkins and Private Kendall are all well.” Then, he frowned. He got up from the chair he was sitting on and came over to my side of the table. “I have a gift for you,” he whispered. 

“A gift?”  Why on earth would he get me a gift? 

He went back to his side of the table and grabbed a small package out of the pocket of his coat. He tossed it towards me. I caught it.  

I stared at the package. 

“Well!” he barked.  

“Well, what?” I asked.  

“Will you do me the honor of opening it?” 

“Oh,” I said, opening the bundle. Inside, gently folded, was a beautiful white shirt. A man’s shirt.  I hated the feeling that came with it. That generosity mixed with the feeling that you owe somebody something. That you should be grateful to somebody. “I can’t accept-” 

“It’s for your birthday.” 

I laughed, “You don’t even know when my birthday is!” 

He watched me silently from across the room.   

“What?” I asked, “Are you going to interrogate me?” 

He thought about it for a minute, “I think not. There are other, more pressing matters for me to attend to, at the moment.” 

I grabbed a piece of bread and a little bit of cheese. The room, despite the lit candles, was freezing cold. My body shivered.  

“Will you excuse me,” Randall paused, then said, “There is something that requires my attention in the other room.” 

“Cool beans,” I said without thinking, my mouth stuffed with bread.  

Randall winced and went to the door.  

While he was gone, I sipped my coffee, slowly. Then, I munched on some more cheese.  

The door opened, and this time Randall came through it with a blanket in his arms.  

I looked at him.  

He crossed the room and gently wrapped the blanket around me. “There,” he said, “Does that feel better?” 

I was really creeped the hey out by this whole thing. But hey, at least he was trying to be nice. I think.   

Instead of going back to the end of the table, Randall slipped into the chair next to me. Smiling, he said, “You must tell me all about your travels and your adventures in the colonies.” 

I sighed, “There’s really not much to tell.” “Well,” I said. I decided to give him the censored version. I didn’t know much about history, but I knew enough to make sure not to mention French Canada. Last time I checked, the English and the French don’t get along, so I started with my journey in America, “I stayed for a while in New York.” 

He raised an eyebrow, “Did you really?” 

I nodded. “I went to school there, too. I was sleeping with the headmaster at the time.” 

He nodded, “And…”  

I sighed, “I stayed there until I was…fourteen.” 

He rested his elbow on the table, “Where did you go?” 

I wrapped the blanket tighter around me, “I went south.” 

“South?” he asked, “Where?” 

“California,” I said.  

“To the Spanish,” he breathed, “Fascinating. And yet, you speak no Spanish.” 

“I went to school there,” I said, “That’s where I learned how to be an accountant.” 

He nodded, satisfied. “And what of your other travels? Tell me of this sword-fighting nun.” 

“I met her in California,” I explained, “We were roommates.” 

“Room-mates?” he asked. 

“We lived together. She was attending school with me.” 

“A nun attending school to become an accountant? Really?” 

“She wasn’t a nun, yet.” 

“Hmm,” he sighed.  

Silence. 

“Well, do go on.” 

“She became a nun and we went our separate ways.” 

He smoothed the hair on his head, “I presume your parting was not pleasant.” 

“No,” I said, “No, it wasn’t.” 

He nodded, “And what of your education? Your Greek and Latin?” 

“While I was in California, I met two Jesuit missionaries. They took me to Asia. They taught me Latin. I learned Greek from a priest in Asia.” 

“Asia,” Randall smiled, “How wonderful. It must have been an exciting opportunity.” 

“Actually,” I said, “It was totally scary.” 

“To-ta-lly…sca-ry?” 

“Uh…frightening.” 

“I see. Continue.” 

“My fighting style comes from Asia,” I explained, “The nun also taught me Japanese.” 

I let out a yawn.  

“Sorry,” I said, “I’m getting tired.” 

The last thing I saw before I blacked out was a smiling Randall. I slept in darkness until a voice yanked me out of it.  

“Madam Jackson, Madam Jackson!” 

My eyes shot open, “Hawkins?” 

Hawkins was shaking me by the arm.  

“Why so noisy, Corporal?” yawned Randall. 

I turned to my side, to see the Captain waking up in the chair next to me. “Good morning,” Randall smiled. 

I was totally embarrassed. Falling asleep like that. Kendall’s probably worried sick. 

Hawkins looked at me, blushing. 

“Corporal?” the Captain cleared his throat, “Corporal?” 

“Ah…um…yes, yes, sir?” 

“Be a good lad and bring Madam Jackson a bowl of water so she can wash her face.” 

“Belay that order,” I snapped. 

Randall glared at me, “I beg your pardon.” 

I got up off my chair, “I just remembered I have to go to the kitchen, yes, go to the kitchen”. 

The Captain blocked me from leaving, “Hawkins,” he said, turning to the youth, “Wait outside.” 

Hawkins left the room, I pushed Randall to the side. He grabbed my arm. Groan. “Look, I know I can’t cook,” I snapped, “But somebody’s got to help Agnes.”  

“You can make pancakes,” the Captain breathed, smiling.  

“Yes, I can make pan-” I blinked, “How did you-?” 

Randall smirked and said nothing. He placed both his hands on my shoulders, “You are not a servant anymore, you should not have to work in the kitchen.” 

“With all due respect, Sir,” I snapped, “Unless you’re willing to come down there and bake bread with Agnes, you’ll have to suffer with the image of me slaving away in a hot kitchen.” 

I left the room.  

Outside in the hallway, Hawkins turned around, his face was now completely red, “Spent the night with the Captain, did we now?” 

“Hawkins, if you haven’t figured it out by now, your Captain wouldn’t touch a woman, not for all the money, titles and commissions this world has to offer,” I snorted. 

I dropped the shirt on the ground. 

Hawkins stared down at it. Then, he picked it up. “It’s a fine shirt.” 

I really didn’t need this conversation right now, “You don’t say…”  

He nodded, “It must of cost two weeks’ pay or more. Why on earth would he waste that kind of money on you of all people? The one he should hate the most.”  

I started to feel sick to my stomach. 

On the way to the kitchen, I could hear the men whispering.  

Once I got there, Kendall ran up to me. He looked at the shirt and then looked at me. He wanted to know where it came from.  

When I told him, he hit the ceiling. 

“Relax, Kendall,” I sighed, “Nothing happened.” 

He relaxed. “I know you’re not a liar,” he whispered, “Just…be careful. People are talking.” 

“I don’t care.” 

At least I didn’t until I got called by Lieutenant Forester to go on patrol. When we did, we went out to several villages.  

While there, the soldiers stared at me with contempt.  

In late December, Randall came down to the kitchen.  

He was smiling like a clown.  

He grabbed my hand and pulled me up the stairs. 

“What is it?” I asked. 

He grasped me by the shoulders, “I have another gift for you.” 

“And does this one come with strings attached,” I huffed, “With me owing you a favour?” 

He smiled, “I should certainly hope so.” 

He led me outside where I saw…Sadie sitting on his horse. 

“Sadie?” I said, looking the woman over, “It’s…nice to see you again.” 

Randall held out his hand to help Sadie down from the horse. 

“What are you doing here?” I asked.  

Looking at the Captain I asked, “What’s she doing here?” 

“Her Master failed to pay his taxes, so, I took this Negresse as payment.” 

Oh God. 

“I know that the two of you are acquainted….” 

Oh dear God, no.  

“So I decided to bring her here to help in the kitchen.” 

Oh Our Lady, no. 

“So, what’s the present?” I asked.  

Randall gestured towards Sadie.   

Oh no, no, no, no, no. 

I was livid. I wanted to tear him in half.  

I grabbed Sadie by the hand.  

“You are angry with me,” Randall breathed, “Have I offended you in some way?” 

“You’re darn right I am!” I yelled.  

I pulled Sadie away from a very confused Randall. We went down into the kitchen.  

I stopped, and turned to look at the poor woman standing next to me.  

“I’m sorry,” I said, “Welcome…to the kitchen.” 

Sadie followed me up to my room, “You can stay here with us until we work something out for you.” 

“Would the Captain approve?” Sadie asked. 

“What?” 

“’is lady staying with a slave?” 

His lady? “I’m no such thing. Me with a man…” 

“Would you settle for a handsome girl?” Sadie smiled. 

My head was in the clouds, “Why, yes…” 

Good night! I turned around. I just admitted my sexuality to Sadie. How stupid could I be? 

Sadie laughed, “I should’ve guessed earlier.” 

A yawn slipped out of my mouth. Sadie frowned, “You’re tired. ‘Ere, let me rub you down.” 

I gulped, “Look, I don’t like the idea of owning a slave-” 

I wasn’t ready for her slap.  

“You want to see me back with Douglas?” she hissed, “You know what that man is like? The Captain ‘as my papers, that means ‘e owns me, so you don’t get to say you don’t want me because you are stuck with me.” 

Almost as soon as she was finished, she remembered the divide between us. Slaves weren’t supposed to hit their… betters

“I’m sorry, my lady!” she cried, kneeling on the ground, grabbing at my hands, “Please, forgive me!” 

“It’s fine,” I laughed. 

She stopped and stared at me. 

“You’re a person, like me,” I explained, “You can say whatever you want. Besides, I’m no lady, I’m just an old whore.” 

Sadie got up, but didn’t let go of my hands, “Please, let old Sadie make it up to you.” 

Her eyes were drowning in tears.  

“All right,” I said.  

She smiled, her teeth shining bright, “Now, please, take off all your clothes.” 

Something didn’t feel right. “Don’t I need to wrap myself in a towel?” I asked. 

Sadie’s smile got bigger. “Trust me,” she laughed, “Skin on skin is best.”  

“Uh…” 

“Uh?” 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”  

Light brown hands grabbed my shoulders. They traveled slowly down my chest. Sadie started to undo the front of her dress.  

“No!” I yelled, pushing her away. 

Sadie fell to the floor, crying.  

“What are you crying for?” 

“Why do you refuse what’s willingly given?” 

“I beg your pardon?” 

Sadie’s eyes went cold. She picked herself up off the ground and walked slowly towards me. “’ow long ‘as it been since you’ve been with a woman?” She reached out to touch me again. 

Upset, I ran into the hall.  

I didn’t dare go back there alone. I took two soldiers with me for protection. The moment we got back to my room, I told them to bring Sadie down to the kitchen. I warned them that she was to remain unharmed.  

The Privates knew I wasn’t kidding. They agreed with me on the spot. 

I turned my back on all three of them. I refused to look at Sadie. 

I didn’t turn around ‘til I heard the footsteps get quiet. 

At that moment, Kendall came in. “Whatever is the matter?” he asked. “Is it the Captain?” 

I was upset as all get out. “I don’t know why he’s so interested in me,” I breathed.  

That’s when Hawkins came in. “The Captain is interested in everybody,” he explained, “So he can know how best to hurt them. If you ask me, he’s just playing at being your friend so he can get something out of you.”  

“But why?” I asked, frustrated with myself and with the situation, “What’s he got to gain? I don’t have any secrets or intelligence. I’m not a man-” 

Hawkins and Kendall got real quiet. They didn’t have the answers either.  

So, I went to see Anselm. When I got there, Bain was sitting in Anselm’s cell. It’s like they both knew I was going to show up.  

“He’s just using his visits to get information,” I said.  

“Do you have any proof of this?” Bain asked.  

“I don’t,” I admitted, “But I heard from Hawkins-” 

“Vile gossip!” Bain exclaimed.  

“Try to look at Randall the way God sees him,” Anselm said.  

I saw red. I went back to the base.  

When I got there, Hawkins pulled me up to Randall’s office.  

“Where were you?” he spat. “I demand an answer.”  

I didn’t answer. I was quiet for a long time.  

“Answer me!” he hollered.  

“I request a leave of thirty days, Sir!” I yelled back at him.  

He paused and nodded. He went back to his desk and sat down. “I cannot spare you for that long. Rebel forces are everywhere. I grant you only twelve days. Take that and be satisfied, Madam.”  

I thanked him and tried to go, but he got up again.  

“Your leave will start tomorrow,” he said, calmly, “I need you tonight in case the fort is attacked.”  

“I ask to be posted on sentry duty,” I breathed, also calmly.  

In the middle of the night, I got Sadie from the kitchen and told her to stay in my room with Kendall. I asked Hawkins to look out for both of them. I also got Agnes to sleep in the room. Strength in numbers, you know?  

Kendall graciously offered to sleep in the chair.  

Agnes snorted at him, “I cannae stand the thought of a slave getting’ the bed.”  

“Zip it,” I said.  

“Move you,” Agnes said to Sadie.  

Sadie just glared at her.  

“Sadie,” I said, strong, “You don’t belong to Agnes. You don’t have to listen to her. Got it?”  

Sadie smiled, “O’ course, m’am.”  

Once everybody was settled in the room, I packed some supplies and waited. Waited for the night to be over.    

Gone – Chapter 26

Here is my Outlander fanfiction. Tonight’s pairing is Black Jack Randall/OC. The following story may be TRIGGERING to some because of mentions of rape, incest, graphic sex and drug abuse. Viewer discretion is advised.

Chapter 26 – Confessions 

Two months later, after he had returned Andrea to the Fort, Captain Randall went to visit Father Anselm. It was late at night. The monks ushered him into the Chapel to wait. He had to wait a good while before the good Father was roused from slumber. 

Finally, the monk, blinking in the dimly lit room, opened his hands.  

“What troubles you, my son?” 

“You assume I am troubled?” 

The monk laughed, “Not many people come to visit me in the middle of the night.” 

Randall looked at a small portrait of the Virgin Mary on the wall.  

“Tell me Father,” he asked, “What are women for?”  

He looked back at the older man, who sat in silence for a while. Then, the monk spoke, “Women were created to carry young and to provide men company, and to a lesser extent, although many scholars would disagree with me, pleasure. That is their main purpose, children and comfort.”  

Randall looked at the floor, “And…nothing else?”  

“Sir?”  

The Captain cleared his throat, “Let us suppose a woman could not carry young and let us suppose -just suppose- she did not provide pleasure to men.” He stared Anselm down. “Tell me, what purpose would she then serve?” 

“I’m afraid I don’t understand the question.” 

“Really?” Randall smirked. Did the old man really believe him so gullible? But, the hour was late and he was too tired to play with the man. He decided to be candid, “In my garrison, at this very moment, I have in my possession a woman, a much older woman, who cannot bear children. In addition to this fact, she won’t share my bed, not that I would even want her there in the first place. No, my question to you, Good Father, is what purpose does she serve?”  

“Well-“ 

“You do not know, do you? You cannot actually answer the question. I can. According to your logic she should be for all intent and purpose…useless. Well, Father, I can tell you for certain that she has proved, much to my…annoyance, incredibly useful.” 

The monk’s shorn head shone in the candlelight, further illuminating the room and further illuminating the horrified expression on his face.  

“Ah, ah, ah, I see the shock on your face. The sheer horror of that suggestion. Yes, it reminds me of my own, of the day that Captain Jonathan Wolverton… You know, I can not even bring myself to say my full name and title.” 

Father Anselm remained silent. 

 “Do doubt you want to know why? Why? Because every time I try to say it, she cuts me off,” Randall said, laughing.  

His face then gobbled the mirth from its features, turning them into dark night. His eyes narrowed. 

“She?” the good Father croaked. 

“The woman who serves no natural purpose, but in fact has a very good purpose,” the Captain paused, ”Several actually. Much to my chagrin and against all good sense and reason.” He paused again, looking down at the floor, “The woman in question.” 

“Ah…” Anselm nodded. “And how-“ 

“Is she useful? Well…” 

“Y…es?” 

“She can kill.” 

“Kill, sir?” 

“She can fight. Better than anyone in the garrison. Her swordsmanship is excellent, flawless even. Though her style is completely without grace or refinement, but then again, St. Jude would admonish me as a grumbler and a complainer. Not only that, but she has singlehandedly cuckolded me.”  

Anselm was surprised. He shook himself. Then, he looked up and down the Captain’s body, “You have…married this woman?” 

Randall’s face turned to mirth again. “No, rather, she prevents me from having any…conjugal relations with every man, woman and child -yes, child- in the area. If he who lives by the sword is supposed to die by the sword, I certainly hope it is soon. Yes, soon. The Good Lord’s justice is supposed to swift, yes?” 

… 

“Well?” 

Anselm frowned, and muttered, “I think you’re missing the point.”  

“I’m sorry, did you say something?” Randall teased, “I could not…” 

“Never mind” the monk gulped, “Please continue.”  

“Thank you, much obliged. She is peacekeeper, guardian of virgins. At least, that’s what she claims, although between you and I, I expect she’s riding that poor boy every night, which, is a position I should occupy, as his superior officer-“ 

He ended his speech abruptly. “Father, are you still listening?”  

“Unfortunately, yes, my son.”  

“Oh good, I thought you were ignoring me,” Randall smiled, his teeth like knives in the moonlight. “What a pleasant surprise!” 

“Please..” the priest groaned, “…continue, my son.”  

“Of course. Yes, well, she also has the gift of making pancakes.” 

“Pan-cakes?” 

“It is the only dish she can prepare successfully. In truth, her place in the kitchen was a waste of time and resources, which could have been prevented had I learned of her true talents earlier. But what is done is done, no point prevaricating on the matter…” He paused, studying the monk, “You have a different opinion?” 

“Best to let bygones be bygones.” 

“Yes…” Randall hissed, “And yet, I cannot.”  

The Father was once again surprised. 

“I cannot in good counsel let bygones be bygones,” Randall sneered, “No.”  

Father Anselm groaned again, “You’re starting to repeat yourself Captain and as the hour is late, I suggest you speak plainly or leave my abbey. If it pleases you, Sir.”  

“It does not.”  

The monk sighed. 

“You said women are to provide men comfort,” Randall added, changing the direction of the conversation. “She does not lie with me, but she comforts me.”  

Intrigued, the Monk leaned forward, “How so?” 

Randall permitted himself a small chuckle, “In truth, it is quite unnerving. She believes I enjoy lying with men exclusively.”  

Now the good Father was truly surprised. 

“Oh Father, please do not act so naïve… it does not suit a man of the cloth.” And with that, Randall licked his lips. 

Father Anselm glared, “My son, I would be very careful-“ 

“Do not threaten me!” Randall screamed. His voice ringing throughout the Chapel, nearly shattering the wooden benches huddled together. 

He forgot himself. Shaking his head, he acknowledged his lack of control, “Forgive me, Father.” He swallowed, hard, “This…creature, this whore has left me in the worse of moods. And yet, also in the best. It is quite unnerving. I confirmed her suspicions, rather, I let her believe she knows my secret.” He paused, breathing in deeply, “She did not attempt to blackmail me. She did not attempt to report me to my superiors. Rather, she put her arms…around me. I thought she would attempt to try and “cure me” of my disease. Instead.” He blushed. How could he allow such emotion to show. He coughed, “Much to my surprise, she told me that I was no less of a man.”  

All at once a heavy feeling descended upon his chest. It was a feeling he could not name. He did not care for such a sentiment. And yet, the sentiment was still there, leaning on his back, like a weight, nearly crushing his body into the ground.  

The monk was once again surprised. 

Randall looked away, “My tastes did not disgust her. They moved her to compassion and understanding. There was no condemnation in her eyes or in her voice. There was no lie.”  

The Captain permitted the elder to lay a hand on his shoulder. 

“This,” Anselm paused, “Troubles you, my son?” 

Randall nodded, still refusing to meet the monk’s gaze. “It does, Father, more than you could possibly comprehend.” He turned to look at the older man. He was so lost… 

“I usually pride myself on being able to teach a woman a thing or two. Women being such soft and…pliable creatures, as much as a young boy-“ 

Anselm glared, pulling his hand away quickly, “You will leave God’s house this instant, I will not stand for this kind of talk in my abbey.”  

“Well, it-“ 

Anselm folded his hands in his robe. “There is room here for those who repent and show remorse for their actions. I have heard many evil things, but I always listen to those who truly wish to change and make amends for the wrongs that they have done. Its sinners like you-“ 

“Sinner?” Randall breathed, “Are we not all sinners?” 

“Don’t quote scripture to me. You’re lucky God is more patient and forgiving than I am, otherwise, I wouldnae hesitate to strike ye down!” 

“As I was saying, I do not think I have anything to teach this woman. Nothing surprises or offends her.” He folded his hands behind his back, “What must I do? More importantly, what am I to make of all this unnatural behaviour in a female? This is clearly God’s punishment.” 

 “For your arrogance?” 

Randall allowed himself to look surprised, “I see Father Bain is incapable of keeping secrets.”  

Anselm did not attempt to deny Randall’s assertion, “He came to me in the strictest confidence disturbed by what he heard ye utter. In a church, of all places! You challenged God! Do ye not understand what that even means? Did ye think He wouldnae hear ye?”   

“You know about my wager-“ 

The monk’s accent became thicker the more the man became enraged. “I do nah know the specifics. Although, I heard enough. You asked for a fallen creature like yourself, to be able to sate yer perverse needs. Thankfully, it seems the Good Lord has sought to… Punishment? Yes, that must be it. What other explanation could there be for this woman’s arrival. You asked for pleasure and company in yer evil. The Good Lord has rejected it. Instead, he has raised up a peasant, a former whore, because of yer own ignoble attributes.”  

“I would caution you-“ 

“Caution me all you like. You were weak. I’ve heard tell of your ill desires towards young Jamie, and to his sister. For goodness’s sake, you could not be satisfied with his virgin sister only?” 

“Well-“ 

“I don’t want to hear any more of your filth.”  

“What can I do, Father?“ 

“Do? Repent!” 

“No. I meant, what can I do about this woman. She has won over my men, she has taken control of every situation. Where my men once would have been frightened to make a move without my say so, now, they go and seek her counsel first, before my own, before that of any other enlisted man for that matter. I have been to town, Father, I have ridden throughout the countryside and I hear talk, Father, vile talk.“ 

Now the priest looked interested, “What kind of vile talk exactly?”  

Randall pretended to look offended, “I do not think such talk would be-“ 

“Just get on with it,” Anselm snapped.  

“Very well, but I did warn –“ 

“Get to the point, my son.”  

“There is talk that my garrison is run on the orders of that woman. That the people, Scot and English alike seek protection and favour from her- » 

“My son, that is completely and utterly ridiculous. No low-born person can hold such power.”  

“You are certain of this?” 

“Without a doubt. It is one thing for her to influence the English. But the Scots following the orders of a woman? No, no, no, my son, such a thing would not be possible. She is sent by God to give you a taste of hell before you get there, no more, no less.”  

“Really? Well…” 

“If you are bothered so much by her presence, allow me to give you some friendly advice.”  

Randall’s eyebrow arched, “Why the sudden change of heart, Father Anselm?” 

The monk smiled, “It seems your suffering has gone on long enough. The Church does not believe a woman should hold such power anyways. Allow me to give you the tools with which to remedy the situation.”  

“True. My suffering has taught me a valuab-“ 

“Do you wish to hear the solution to your problem or would you rather stand over there, glorifying the sound of your own voice instead of the might of the Almighty?”  

“You sound exactly like her.” 

At that, the monk chuckled. He quickly shut his mouth upon seeing Randall’s expression. “My son, the answer is simple.”  

The Captain blinked incredulously. 

“All it takes is a wee bit of political maneuvering… Form an alliance with her.”  

Randall blinked again, “W-what?”  

“Ally yourself with this “whore”. Let your men see that you and she have come to an understanding. Befriend her.”  

It was absolute genius. Yes, yes. Draw her into a sense of ease, and then she will let her guard down and then he’d…befriend her, yes.  

“Yes, my son, befriend her. Nothing more. And your men, upon seeing your goodwill towards that which they respect, will earn you their respect. Understand?” 

“Completely.”  

Anselm smiled, “Good. I absolve y-“ 

Randall turned his back on the monk, “Good riddance, Old Man.” And with that, he left.  

“May God have- I’m sorry, Lord, I can’t even bring myself to say it,” said Father Anselm standing alone in the small chapel.    

The next morning, Father Anselm went into town to see Father Bain. Once he had the younger man sitting down, he broke the news, as gently as he could, about what had occurred the previous evening. He also thought it best, after Bain downed a cup of whisky, to talk about Andrea. 

“In any case,” Bain remarked, “Andrea may serve as a good distraction. If he’s busy befriending her, he most likely won’t be bothering us Scots, or any English for that matter.” 

“I’m glad you see it my way,” Anselm nodded. “Andrea will be a positive force. She may tame him for us and make him docile.”  

Bain looked uncomfortable. Anselm sighed. Why on earth did the man have to hate women so much? They were creations of God. They may be lower in status, but they are still worth much in the eyes of God. 

After Bain had finished the drought, both holy men agreed that everyone else will be safer if they encouraged Andrea to pursue a friendship with Randall. 

When Anselm left, Bain waited. He knew that Andrea would be in town shortly, will Loaghaire on her arm, no doubt.  

As she and the blonde lass walked past the windows of his church, laughing, he watched in disgust. When they said their farewells, Bain dove like a hawk, running straight for his prey.  

“Madam Jackson, when was the last time ya went to confession?” 

“Do I know you?” she asked. The nerve of that woman! Still, keeping what Anselm said in mind, he pulled her into the church.  

“I’ve been keeping an eye on you,” he confessed, “At Father Anselm’s request.” 

The woman immediately relaxed.   

Settling into the confessional, he half-listened as the woman went on and on about how awful Black Jack Randall was, how she was currently living in sin with a man who was not her husband and how she was also fraternizing with an English soldier by the name of Hawkins. And she had the nerve to claim she was not having sexual relations with any of them! Filthy whore! 

But, remembering what Anselm had told him. He tried to treat her as a…no, he could not. He would not. Her inclinations may be manly, but she was no man.  

“My child,” he said, “Have you ever considered that perhaps you should reflect on the good the situation has brought you. It appears that God does indeed have a plan for you, so be at ease and trust in him. 

“But Randall-” 

“Perhaps it’s best you talk with Father Anselm, if you don’t care much for what I have to say.”  

And she left.  

Two hours later, Father Anselm heard a knock at the abbey door. Standing outside, arms crossed, was a very tired, very angry Andrea.  

Ushering her inside, she didn’t waste a moment telling him what a “moron” Bain was for suggesting that she should rejoice in her present situation. 

Anselm, smiling, suggested that her example could perhaps lead Randall to the Lord.  

Andrea winced at the suggestion.  

Inwardly, Anselm sighed. He would make sure to pray that God would bring the two of them to a truce. A simple truce, nothing more. 

Gone – Chapter 24

« When I woke up in the middle of the night, I got dressed. I went down to the kitchen and made myself some coffee that I’d stashed away in my bag. »

Here is my Outlander fanfiction. Tonight’s pairing is Black Jack Randall/OC. The following story may be TRIGGERING to some because of mentions of rape, incest, graphic sex and drug abuse. Viewer discretion is advised.

Chapter 24 – Sunday off 

When I woke up in the middle of the night, I got dressed. 

I went down to the kitchen and made myself some coffee that I’d stashed away in my bag. The cup was hot and strong. After living so long without it. I thought about smoking some weed, but I didn’t want to wander around Scotland high as a kite.  

So, I went outside, while it was still dark, walking.  

I didn’t bother with the horse.   

I found a nearby farm, just as the sun was coming up. Next to the pasture, I had a wonderful conversation with some sheep and cows. 

“It’s my roommate, man,” I said, taking a deep breath of air. “I don’t know what to do. I’ve tried being nice to him, but nothing works. Plus, he hates Catholics…I’m Catholic. I don’t know if the Scots are all Catholic. Probably not. I mean what does it matter anyways, you know? We all serve God…except for the unbelievers and Kendall. No matter what he says, I don’t think he believes. I don’t think he even goes to church…” 

I turned around, only to see a very distressed farmer.  

“Yo!” I said, “Keep it real, man, keep it real.” 

He ran away. 

“And I don’t know what to do,” I said, staring into the beautiful black eyes of a cow. “What do you think I should do?” 

I rested my head against the fence. The cow licked my head. 

“I knew you’d understand, you know?”   

A sheep nearby said, “Baa.”  

I nodded my head, “Totally.” 

I fell off of the fence I was leaning on. I slowly pulled myself back up. 

“Is she sober?” a voice asked. 

I stumbled to my feet to find a man with a white mustache glaring at me. He and his friends were about a meter away. My mind flashed, he was the same man who burned that one family’s home and property. I glared at him.  

“What do ya want?” he asked.  

The men around him folded their arms. “Leave now,” the mustache-man said, “You’re on MacKenzie land. No Redcoats here.” 

I’m not a redcoat. I might work for them, but a redcoat I am not.  

“Out for a stroll, eh Dougal?” 

Oh Lord, Oh My Lady, please no, please no, please no, no, no, no- 

Saying no wasn’t going to change anything. It was still Randall on a gosh darn horse. Gosh darn it. Gosh darn it all to hey.  

He rode up to where I was leaning on the fence. The way he put the horse in front of me, well, if I didn’t know better, I’d say it looked like he was protecting me.  

“Madam Jackson is here on the business of the King,” he said. 

I laughed. 

Randall glared. 

I didn’t care.  

Randall grabbed me by my collar and barked, “Get on the horse, now. You have done your duty for the day.” 

I went up the saddle. It took me a few minutes to settle myself in. When I did, Randall sped off, away from the rest of the men.  

Annoyed, I decided the best thing to do would be to jump off the horse and take off. Randall halted, but seeing me on the ground, he gave up and sped away. 

I wandered further into a nearby grove of trees, until I heard the most beautiful sound. That voice! Like an angel! Looking through the trees, I saw a naked blonde bombshell singing. She was frolicking beside the stream.  

I nearly had a heart attack.  

I must’ve yelled because the bombshell ran over to help me. But not before asking, “Are ye a man or a woman?”  

“You should be careful about wandering naked around here,” I coughed. “You never know who you might run into.”  

The bombshell started to put her clothes back on as I wobbled to my feet.  

“Who are ye?” she asked, suddenly.  

I tried to leave, but the bombshell tried to follow.  

“I demand ye answer,” the bombshell screamed. 

I was trying to look everywhere but at the woman. I didn’t want to be tempted, you know?  

“Do ye think I’m ugly,” the bombshell asked, “Is that why ye won’t look at me?”  

“You’re gorgeous,” I blurted out. I wanted to slap myself. Stupid Andrea. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid.  

The beautiful young bombshell blushed. Her face broke out into a smile. “Can I walk with you?” she asked in the cutest way possible.  

I just couldn’t. Not today, Lord, not today. “I’m a terrible person,” I said, quickly, “I killed many of your kin.” 

The bombshell frowned, “You’re the Highlander Killer. We’ve all heard a lot about you.” 

Now, it was my turn to be confused.  

“We MacKenzies have heard talk of an English agent, who goes around slaying hundreds. They say you killed 35 men in a single battle. ” 

“You sing nice,” I said, changing the subject.  

The young girl thanked me and blushed again.  

“You know,” her smile was real wide by this point, “Most women aren’t as kind as you are.” 

I tried to leave again, but the blonde beauty stopped me.  

“There’s a priest in town,” Loaghaire said, “He has a cart. He could take you all the way back to Fort William.” 

I didn’t want to say yes, but seeing as I didn’t want to have to walk back, especially on my day off, I said yes to… 

“Loaghaire,” she breathed, “Loaghaire’s my name.”  

I followed Loaghaire into town. We went to this plain old church and found the Father. He was a tall, thin, bald man. And from the way he talked to Loaghaire, he seemed to hate women.  

Bogus.  

“So you’ve brought us the devil, my child,” he breathed. “You, do you profess any faith?”  

“I’m Catholic,” I replied.  

He was downright shocked.   

He sent a look to Loaghaire and she took her leave. All the priest had to do was look at the way my eyes followed the girl to know my sin.  

“God will deal with you for your unnatural behaviour,” he snapped.  

I ignored the good Father.  

Me and Father Bain arrived at the base by sundown. Before I got out of the cart, Bain told me he’d be praying for my soul.  

I waved him off and hoped I’d never see him again. 

How wrong I was.  

Bogus, man. Bogus.  

Gone – Chapter 25

« When spring was nearly over, my pills ran out. Knowing it was time, that I’d fulfilled my usefulness, I went around the base. »

Here is my Outlander fanfiction. Tonight’s pairing is Black Jack Randall/OC. The following story may be TRIGGERING to some because of mentions of rape, incest, graphic sex and drug abuse. Viewer discretion is advised.

Chapter 25 – Waiting for death 

When spring was nearly over, my pills ran out. Knowing it was time, that I’d fulfilled my usefulness, I went around the base.  

I went to the kitchen. “I’m going to die,” I said.  

That day, I made my peace with Agnes.  

I gave the good shoes Muldoon had given me to Agnes. She was delighted. I gave my coat and scarf to Hawkins. I gave Kendall the shirt Randall had given me as well as one of my swords from Yuri. I gave Hawkins the other sword. I gave Agnes back her dress and I gave her the third sword to protect herself with. I kept my honour blade for myself. Not to end my own life, but to defend it as a last resort.    

When Agnes got permission to go to the Monastery to get medicine, I asked that I’d be allowed to accompany her.  

Yates agreed.  

When I found Anselm, I told him about my situation.  

“How did you discover your disease?” he asked.  

Weird question, but I told him anyways.  

“Some people from my past, in the Church…” 

“Did they mistreat you?” he asked. 

I swallowed, hard. “Yes,” I chocked on the word. I wanted to vomit.  

“I’m sorry to hear-” 

“A nun raped me and then a priest raped me.” I don’t know why I said it. But I did. I told him. And it felt…good, great. 

“And these…people…they-” 

“The Superior of the convent where I grew up tracked me down. She sent some priests from there to get me back. They found me and told me I had AIDS.” I swallowed again, gasping for air, “The priests are also the reason why I went into a convent in the first place.” 

He nodded, folding his hands. “And how do you know anything about this disease. Did they tell you the symptoms?” 

I laughed. “I don’t actually know much about it.”   

He put his folded hands down on the table. “My child.” He said it so quietly, like it almost a whisper. “My child,” he said, a little louder this time, “In actuality, your condition is fine.”  

I didn’t hear that. I heard him say my condition is terminal. 

“You’re not ill, my dear. The pig-” 

“That can’t be,” I said, “I should be dying soon.” 

“You also were most likely never ill to begin with. Aside from your heart, there’s nothing else that’s wrong with you.”   

I felt like… 

“You’re doing fine, my child. Perhaps your disease is not as bad as you were led to believe. In that case, I’d say you’ve made a full recovery.” 

I lost it. 

I screamed at him for an hour. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing!”  

Anselm hung his head, “I’m sorry, my child. It appears you’ve been deceived.” 

My body fell to the floor.  

I cried. 

Anselm walked over to my body. He put his hands on my shoulders, “My child, do not be troubled. This is a gift from God-” 

A horse neighed outside.  

Anselm left me. I heard a door close.  

I was still on the floor, crying my head off. I’d been such a moron… 

I heard voices outside the door. I pushed my ear against the wood.  

“Ah, Captain, how can we-” 

“Trouble.” 

“Trouble, Captain?” 

“More rebels. There seems to be new ones popping up every day.” 

“And how can-” 

“I have come to inquire after Madam Jackson. How is her health? Will she be well enough to fight?” 

Angry, I got up and grabbed my sword out of the bag around my body. I reached for the pitcher of water in Anselm’s office and washed my face.  

I came out into the parlour. “I’m ready,” I said.   

The Captain nodded, “Good.”  

Anselm, nodding solemnly, told me that he’d be there if I needed any guidance.   

I nodded at the good Father.  

Randall went outside, “I brought your horse, I had a feeling you would be needing her…” 

“Good call,” I said, jumping up on the horse.  

“Does she have a name?” he asked. 

“No,” I laughed.  

He cracked a smile. “Strange,” he said, getting up on his ride, “I thought that you of all people, Madam Jackson, would find a suitable name for a horse.” 

I rolled my eyes, “Just lead me to the rebels, Captain.”  

He rode off and I followed.  

When we got to the battlefield -if you could call a small village a battlefield- it was absolute chaos.  

Luckily, a few strokes of my sword, and the rest of the men involved surrendered.  

We took at least a dozen men prisoner.  

Back at base, the second I went through the gates, I saw Kendall, sweeping. He ran towards me. I gave him a big bear hug. While still on the horse. 

When I let him go, I turned back to look at Randall. Randall looked like he wanted to kill both of us.  

The men around us were cheering, “Huzzah!” 

I raised my sword in victory. It felt good to be back.  

I looked at Randall. He reached for the hand that was in the air.  

I yanked it away. 

Then, I got off the horse and went back into the fort. 

… 

I had to get all my possessions back.  

Bogus, man, bogus.  

Gone – Chapter 23

« I put down another band of rebels. On the way back to the fort we stopped at a big house. »

Here is the Prologue to my Outlander fanfiction. Tonight’s pairing is Black Jack Randall/OC. The following story may be TRIGGERING to some because of mentions of rape, incest, graphic sex and drug abuse. Viewer discretion is advised.

Chapter 23 – Promotion and Acceptance 

I put down another band of rebels. 

On the way back to the fort we stopped at a big house. It was pretty plain and boring from the outside. And grey. There was a lot of grey.  

Inside wasn’t much cheerier.  

The house was nicely decorated. Lace on the table. The furniture was all wood. Totally radical.  

I liked it. It even smelled nice. Like baked bread and chicken soup.  

One thing I noticed that made it stand out from other places I’d been to, was the people. Specifically, they were Black. 

Aside from the one man and the one woman who came out to greet us, everyone else was Black. I guessed they were the slaves, not the owners. 

A cold chill ran down my spine. It was totally creepy. People I was used to seeing as…well, people, weren’t anymore, you know? They were cattle. 

The Officer in charge of the expedition, Lieutenant Hughes, stopped there so that the six men with us could take rest.  

“Don’t fret,” he told me as we went inside, “Douglas is a man sympathetic to the Crown. He’s been a source of great help to us. Besides, you’re about to eat at the finest table in Scotland.” 

“The finest table?” I asked. 

“Yes, his cook’s most talented.” 

Hughes and I were escorted into a small sitting room. The men were left outside. The slaves were to give them bread and water. Hughes gave strict orders to the men to leave the slaves be.   

A middle-aged man came into the sitting room, followed by a middle-aged woman. They introduced themselves as Douglas and Madame Douglas.  

They were kind and cheerful. We were ushered into a small dining room. The table was piled high with fruit preserves, meat, parsley, chives, cheese and bread. Loaves and loaves of bread. 

Hughes pulled my chair out. We both sat down before our hosts. Our hosts insisted that we do so.  

Once we finished the meal, Hughes insisted that Douglas bring out Sadie. 

“Who’s Sadie?” I asked. 

It was the first time I’d opened my mouth. Douglas blinked, “You’re a woman,” he said.  

I nodded.  

“And you fight?” he asked. 

“Yes,” I said. I was expecting disapproval, but instead, he said, “Good. If you ask me, most of the lasses in this country can fight better than most of the sad lads that join the army. Is it no so, Lieutenant Hughes?” 

Hughes looked embarrassed, but, he politely agreed. In the name of decorum, I guess.  

“Using women,” he coughed, “Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant idea. What better way to surprise the enemy, eh?” 

I smiled. At least our host was progressive in some areas.  

“Sadie!” he bellowed, “Where the devil is that girl? Sadie!” 

“Right ‘ere, Master, old Sadie’s right ‘ere.” 

There, coming out of the kitchen, was a petite, caramel coated woman. She had slender hips and small breasts.  

She had a big smile on her face. She put her hands on her hips. “’Ello child-ren,” she called to Hughes and me, “’Ow are you to-day?” 

I winced. I could tell she was playing dumb. 

“Wonderful, Sadie, now that I’ve eaten your food,” chuckled Hughes. 

Hughes and Sadie exchanged words. The whole conversation made me sick to my stomach. She wasn’t stupid. And I could tell the accent was exaggerated.  

Nobody talked like that.  

When Sadie and her “girls” grabbed the remaining dishes and food, they brought our leftovers out to the men.          

I excused myself from the table and went to find the restroom. I bumped into Sadie by accident.  

“I’m sorry,” I said, scooping up the plates from the floor. 

Sadie and the other girl with her looked surprised.  

“Ima sorry, dearie, Ima sorry.” 

I shook my head. “You can drop the act, Sadie,” I said, “I know you’re not stupid.” 

She blinked. “Say what now?” 

“You don’t have to pretend to be stupid,” I told her. 

“I-ma sure Sadie don’t know what you’re talk-ing about,” she said. Every syllable was painfully slow.  

“Look,” I rolled my eyes, “Just know that you don’t have to pretend around me.” 

Sadie and the other girl stared at me.  

“Oh, and, your food tastes amazing.” I said, “Douglas is lucky to have you.”  

I eventually found a chamber pot tucked away in a dark room. I did my business and hurried back to the table.  

Hughes and Douglas chatted for a little while longer and then we got back on the horses.  

Back at the Fort, things didn’t change. Except now, instead of hating me, the men were nervous around me. They didn’t accept me, but they knew better than to mess with me. Especially now that the story about me and the thirty-five men had gotten around.  

Once, I corned a group of them beating Kendall.  

One step in their direction and they dropped him. “Are you picking on my friend?” I growled.  

They didn’t bother Kendall again. Nobody did. Not even Randall.  

When the other men saw me talking to Hawkins, they stayed away from him too.   

At a later date, I stepped into the dining hall and in a very loud voice, asked, “How’s my friend Agnes doing?”  

Agnes glared at me, but later, I noticed she seemed more at ease. I guess nobody was bothering her now.  

On that day, Yates dropped by the kitchen. “Why on earth are you down here?” he barked, “This is most-“ 

“What do you want?” I asked. 

“I wish to inquire after your wellbeing,” he breathed.  

“I’m fine, thanks for asking.” 

He stayed there glued to the spot. 

“Anything else?” I asked.  

“No,” he said.  

I was waiting for Sunday. The day when I can smoke a joint and drink coffee in the morning and then go out and find adventure. 

It was looking to be a wonderful Sunday at that, since Randall was avoiding me. He was even less present than before.   

On Saturday, Yates was sent to get me. He told me to wash up and get dressed in my gown for dinner. “You are to dine with the rest of us this evening and every day afterwards.” 

I nearly retched at the thought of dining with Randall, but I figured my sitting down for dinner was non-negotiable.  

When I went to sit down, everybody looked nervous, even Lord Thomas. The servants, putting the food down, glared at me. The crazy pervert Captain was nowhere in sight. I waited for my host to start. Then, I refused the meat offered to me.  

“A sign of modesty on the part of our new table-mate,” he joked, but he smiled at me. Clearly, he approved.  

I sighed inside. At least nobody would be pressuring me to eat meat.