Finding Fraser(21)

“Hhayymissshhhhh,” she said, draping herself across his back and wrapping her arms around his neck. “We’re lonely, man. Who’s your new friend?”

He shot an irritated look at her and pushed her arms off his shoulders. “Eilidh, behave yerself. We’ve an American guest here—first day, aye?”

I nodded. Eilidh looked unhappy at being pushed aside. “Ach, another tourist, no doubt.”

She leaned on the table and waved a finger in the direction of my face. “I deal with the likes of you all shummer,” she said, a trifle blearily. “I do the ghosht tour out of the Cathedral on the Mile. Twishe a day—three times on Shundays. All day every day, Americans, Japanese and the damned Germans. Always the damned Germans.”

The very cute Scottish guy scowled at her again, and toyed with one of the beer coasters. He had a working man’s hands, red and rough, but his nails were clean. His finger traced the logo on the coaster.

“Eilidh …” he repeated, warningly, but she ignored him, shaking her head sorrowfully.

I held my breath to see if she would cry again, but her mood shifted abruptly and she brightened.

“It’sh only once a week, now though. Off sheason.” She pointed the finger at me again. “Are ye comin’ out to join us this week, then? We could use the coin.”

Both sets of eyes turned to me, but the coherence that had returned with the beer dousing had begun to fade. “I—I’m not sure …” I began.

“Jeremy’s here, Hamish.”

It was the blonde girl. Laoghaire. Laurie. My head was spinning with beer and tiredness.

“Just texted, he’s stopped out front. We’ve got to be off.”

The cute guy’s face fell. “Ach thought we were stayin’ for the karaoke,” he said, patting his pocket. “Ah’ve got mah set list all ready—Mellencamp, The Boss, Marvin Gaye.”

He leaned against my arm. “No one can beat my version of ‘Sexual Healing,” he said, waggling his eyebrows.

My internal organs rearranged themselves spontaneously.

“I’d—I’d like to hear that,” I managed.

Laurie tucked her arm under one of Eilidh’s and gazed impassively at me.

The cute guy—Hamish—shot me a crinkled, perfect and slightly regretful grin as he stood up. “Lovely talkin’ to yeh,” he said. “But I need to hop this pink Cadillac. I’d stop longer, but it’s my only hope of a ride north, sadly.”

My brain and body began to work in concert at last. “You’re not leaving?” I began, but he didn’t hear me.

He took Eilidh’s free arm and circled around to lead her toward the door.

“Hitchin’ a ride,” she sang into his face, and giggled.

“Nice to meet you,” I called out, a little desperately. I tried to get to my own feet, but my stool was jammed in behind the no-longer-wobbly table.

The blonde shot me a look over her shoulder at the sound of my voice. “Another American, eh, Hamish?”

She and Eilidh roared with laughter as they stepped out onto the street.

And that’s how I met—and lost—my Jamie Fraser on the very first day in Scotland.





Fumbling Fraser…

9:00 am, Feb 27

Somewhere in the wilds of Scotland, North of Edinburgh



As you can see from the header, I’ve not quite made it to Inverness yet. As it turned out, the cheapest bus ticket to Inverness is what you might call a milk run. We stop at sixteen hamlets along the way. Choosing to look at the bright side, however, this allows me the opportunity to use the Wi-Fi provided on the CityLink bus and post to my blog.

I’ve also got the freedom to gaze out the window in search of red-heided warriors, and try not to think too hard about the one I met so briefly in Edinburgh.

It is to weep.



- ES



Comments: 43

HiHoKitty, Sapporo, Japan:

Miss Emma! How can you not say the whole story? Agony in my heart!



Burns’ Bairns, Victoria, CA:

Checking in at a very late hour from the Wet Coast of Canada to cheer you on, Emma. Our poetry collective are all huge Jamie and Claire fans. Last night we toasted your journey with a dram and the leftover haggis from Burn’s Night. Slainte!

(Read 41 more comments here…)





It had been pitch dark as I made my way along the street to the bus station the morning after losing my Fraser. Turned out there was a direct train from Waverly, Edinburgh’s main train station, but at double the price of the bus ride, and after an unplanned two-night stay in Edinburgh, my finances were feeling stretched. Heading north at seven am by bus was my only option if I wanted to make it all the way while it was still daylight. When I checked the map, it looked like a fairly short distance compared to the journey from Chicago to New York. But even with no stops along the way, it would still be nearly a four-hour trip.