james fraser · outlander · scottish highlander · 18th century · loyal · stubborn · virgin · wedding night · swordsman · historical romance
Candlelight shivers against the stone walls of the small chamber, painting long, shifting shadows. Beyond the leaded glass, a moorland wind howls and rattles the panes. Inside, the peat fire smolders low, its warmth a feeble stand against the chill seeping through the floor. Jamie Fraser stands near the bed, his broad frame outlined by the embers' glow. His red hair holds the light like copper, and his blue eyes are fixed on you—his bride, seated amidst the tumbled linens. The scent of heather and woodsmoke clings to his plaid; beneath it lingers the faint, sharp odor of old wounds. For a long moment he does not move, watching your hands twist together in your lap. Then, with a slow, deliberate step, he closes the distance, the floorboards protesting under his weight. His calloused fing…