Jamie made a fire in a sheltered spot, and sat down next to it. The rain
had eased to a faint drizzle that misted the air and spangled my
eyelashes with rainbows when I looked at the flames.
He sat staring into the fire for a long time. Finally he looked up at
me, hands clasped around his knees.
"I said before that I'd not ask ye things ye had no wish to tell
me. And I'd not ask ye now; but I must know, for your safety as well as
mine." He paused, hesitating.
"Claire, if you've never been honest wi' me, be so now, for I must
know the truth. Claire, are ye a witch?"
I gaped at him. "A witch? You—you can really ask that?"
I thought he must be joking. He wasn't.
He took me by the shoulders and gripped me hard, staring into my eyes as
though willing me to answer him.
"I must ask it, Claire! And you must tell me!"
"And if I were?" I asked through dry lips. "If you had
thought I were a witch? Would you still have fought for me?"
"I would have gone to the stake with you!" he said violently.
"And to hell beyond, if I must. But may the Lord Jesus have mercy
on my soul and on yours, tell me the truth!"
The strain of it all caught up with me. I tore myself out of his grasp
and ran across the clearing. Not far, only to the edge of the trees; I
could not bear the exposure of the open space. I clutched a tree; put my
arms around it and dug my fingers hard into the bark, pressed my face to
it and shrieked with hysterical laughter.
Jamie's face, white and shocked, loomed up on the other side of the
tree. With the dim realization that what I was doing must sound
unnervingly like cackling, I made a terrific effort and stopped.
Panting, I stared at him for a moment.
"Yes," I said, backing away, still heaving with gasps of
unhinged laughter. "Yes, I am a witch! To you, I must be. I've
never had smallpox, but I can walk through a room full of dying men and
never catch it. I can nurse the sick and breathe their air and touch
their bodies, and the sickness can't touch me. I can't catch cholera,
either, or lockjaw, or the morbid sore throat. And you must think it's
an enchantment, because you've never heard of vaccine, and there's no
other way you can explain it."
"The things I know—" I stopped backing away and stood
still, breathing heavily, trying to control myself. "I know about
Jonathan Randall because I was told about him. I know when he was born
and when he'll die, I know about what he's done and what he'll do, I
know about Sandringham because ... because Frank told me. He knew about
Randall because he ... he ... oh, God!" I felt as though I might be
sick, and closed my eyes to shut out the spinning stars overhead.
"And Colum ... he thinks I'm a witch, because I know Hamish isn't
his own son. I know ... he can't sire children. But he thought I knew
who Hamish's father is ... I thought maybe it was you, but then I knew
it couldn't be, and..." I was talking faster and faster, trying to
keep the vertigo at bay with the sound of my own voice.
"Everything I've ever told you about myself was true," I said,
nodding madly as though to reassure myself. "Everything. I haven't
any people, I haven't any history, because I haven't happened yet.
"Do you know when I was born?" I asked, looking up. I knew my
hair was wild and my eyes staring, and I didn't care. "On the
twentieth of October, in the Year of Our Lord nineteen hundred and
eighteen. Do you hear me?" I demanded, for he was blinking at me
unmoving, as though paying no attention to a word I said. "I said
nineteen eighteen! Nearly two hundred years from now! Do you hear?"
I was shouting now, and he nodded slowly.
"I hear," he said softly.
"Yes, you hear!" I blazed. "And you think I'm raving mad.
Don't you? Admit it! That's what you think. You have to think so, there
isn't any other way you can explain me to yourself. You can't
believe me, you can't dare to. Oh, Jamie..." I felt my face start
to crumple. All this time spent hiding the truth, realizing that I could
never tell anyone, and now I realized that I could tell Jamie, my
beloved husband, the man I trusted beyond all others, and he
wouldn't—he couldn't believe me either.
"It was the rocks—the fairy hill. The standing stones.
Merlin's stones. That's where I came through." I was gasping,
half-sobbing, becoming less coherent by the second. "Once upon a
time, but it's really two hundred years. It's always two hundred years,
in the stories. ... But in the stories, the people always get back. I
couldn't get back." I turned away, staggering, grasping for
support. I sank down on a rock, shoulders slumped, and put my head in my
hands. There was a long silence in the wood. It went on long enough for
the small night birds to recover their courage and start their noises
once again, calling to each other with a thin, high zeek! as they
hawked for the last insects of the summer.
I looked up at last, thinking that perhaps he had simply risen and left
me, overcome by my revelations. He was still there, though, still
sitting, hands braced on his knees, head bowed as though in thought.
The hairs on his arms shone stiff as copper wires in the firelight,
though, and I realized that they stood erect, like the bristles on a
dog. He was afraid of me.
"Jamie," I said, feeling my heart break with absolute
loneliness. "Oh, Jamie."
I sat down and curled myself into a ball, trying to roll myself around
the core of my pain. Nothing mattered any longer, and I sobbed my heart
His hands on my shoulders raised me, enough to see his face. Through the
haze of tears, I saw the look he wore in battle, of struggle that had
passed the point of strain and become calm certainty.
"I believe you," he said firmly. "I dinna understand it a
bit—not yet—but I believe you. Claire, I believe you! Listen
to me! There's the truth between us, you and I, and whatever ye tell me,
I shall believe it." He gave me a gentle shake.
"It doesna matter what it is. You've told me. That's enough for
now. Be still, mo duinne. Lay your head and rest. You'll tell me
the rest of it later. And I'll believe you."
I was still sobbing, unable to grasp what he was telling me. I
struggled, trying to pull away, but he gathered me up and held me
tightly against himself, pushing my head into the folds of his plaid,
and repeating over and over again, "I believe you."
At last, from sheer exhaustion, I grew calm enough to look up and say,
"But you can't believe me."
He smiled down at me. His mouth trembled slightly, but he smiled.
"Ye'll no tell me what I canna do, Sassenach." He
paused a moment. ... A long time later, he spoke.
"All right. Tell me now."
I told him. Told him everything, haltingly but coherently. I felt numb
from exhaustion, but content, like a rabbit that has outrun a fox, and
found temporary shelter under a log. It isn't sanctuary, but at least it
is respite. And I told him about Frank.
"Frank," he said softly. "Then he isna dead, after
"He isn't born." I felt another small wave of hysteria
break against my ribs, but managed to keep myself under control.
"Neither am I."
He stroked and patted me back into silence, making his small murmuring
"When I took ye from Randall at Fort William," he said
suddenly, "you were trying to get back. Back to the stones. And ...
Frank. That's why ye left the grove."
"And I beat you for it." His voice was soft with regret.
"You couldn't know. I couldn't tell you." I was beginning to
feel very drowsy indeed.
"No, I dinna suppose ye could." He pulled the plaid closer
around me, tucking it gently around my shoulders. "Do ye sleep now,
mo duinne. No one shall harm ye; I'm here."
I burrowed into the warm curve of his shoulder, letting my tired mind
fall through the layers of oblivion. I forced myself to the surface long
enough to ask, "Do you really believe me, Jamie?"
He sighed, and smiled ruefully down at me.
"Aye, I believe ye, Sassenach. But it would ha' been a good deal
easier if you'd only been a witch."
Excerpted from "Outlander" by Diana Gabaldon. Copyright © 1992 by Diana Gabaldon. Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher. Excerpts are provided solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.