Original prompt: Imagine Claire and Jamies first date or the wedding itself in the Modern Glasgow AU
Jamie paced on the rug in front of the window, hands clasped behind his back.
What was taking her so long? Murtagh had assured him all was well – lasses did take a bit more time to get ready, after all. But never had he had to wait for something like this –
The door to their bedroom creaked open. Jamie turned, and his heart stopped.
Claire smiled widely at him from the doorway, glowing in a beautiful grey dress. The neckline scooped to show off her beautiful collarbones and just the tops of her bonny breasts. Her hair floated gently around her face. God, he wanted to bury his fingers in it and swallow her mouth -
He blinked, watching helplessly as she slowly walked toward him. Quickly he grabbed her hands and twined their fingers together.
“Claire – ” he choked. “My lady. Claire – you’re – ”
She squeezed his hands. “I could say the same to you, lad. I didn’t know you owned a kilt.”
Jamie blinked, looked down at his tartan, and then back at Claire. God, her eyes were so beautiful.
“Aye – Fraser colors. I want – I want to honor ye. To wed ye in the same clothing my father did, and his father before that, and on and on and on back.”
Her eyes darted to his feet. “My, what bonny knees you have,” she teased.
And with that, the tension between them broke – to be quickly replaced with excitement.
“We’re really doing this, Jamie.”
He nodded. “Aye, Claire, we are.” He dropped her hands and fished in a small pouch at his waist.
“These were my mother’s,” he said softly as he drew a lovely string of pearls around her neck and closed the clasp gently at her nape. His fingers lingered for just a moment before pulling back.
Claire’s fingers ran along the pearls. “They’re lovely, Jamie.” Her eyes locked with his, and she licked her lips.
“Aye, weel.” Jamie flushed. “They’re only Scotch pearls – and antique ones at that. They always looked so bonny on her – ye’ve got a long graceful neck, just like she did. So.”
Overcome with emotion, Claire tilted up her chin for a kiss.
“Oh no you don’t!” Murtagh quickly stepped between them. “It’s bad enough ye’re seeing each other before the wedding – I willna break wi’ every tradition today.”
Jamie glared at his godfather, and Claire smiled. “Any other disruptions ye’d like to make, then?”
“Aye, lad. Yer rings – give them to me. Elsewise I’d have nothing to do during the ceremony.”
Quickly they removed their rings. Murtagh deposited them with a soft clink in his sporran and picked up his phone from the side table.
“Another man in a kilt! Maybe he’ll catch some lucky lassie’s eye today,” Claire teased, winding her arm around Jamie.
“Enough wi’ ye,” Murtagh glowered, holding up his phone. “Give us a good pose, aye? Ye’ll want yer bairns to see what lovestruck idiots their Mam and Da were on their wedding day.”
Jamie, glowing with joy, settled one hand possessively in the curve of Claire’s waist. She turned her body so it was flush against his side, her head settling into his shoulder.
Murtagh cursed gently as he tried and failed to get the camera to focus. It finally cooperated and he snapped one photo. Claire lifted her head and Jamie turned his to nuzzle her hair. Murtagh snapped another photo, shaking his head slightly. He cleared his throat.
“Well then. Let’s get to the Morris. Canna be late to yer own wedding.”
It didn’t take too long to get to the registry office. Murtagh dropped them off in front. Jamie scrambled out of the back seat to open the passenger door for Claire and take her hand. Her wide smile at his gallantry warmed him straight through.
A few steps inside the door and a short trip up a flight of stairs were all that separated them from their future. Claire paused on the landing. Jamie stopped, inquisitive. “What is it?”
She shook her head. “Aren’t you afraid that people down below will see your - parts?”
He grinned. “And here I thought ye’d changed yer mind. No, I’m not worrit. It’s no’ like most people have never seen a pair of ballocks before.”
She smiled and suddenly darted up the remaining steps, holding her skirts in one hand. Jamie, laughing, chased behind. They made it to the top, panting and giggling, to meet the disapproving frown of a middle-aged matron slumped behind a battered desk.
“James Fraser and Claire Beauchamp,” Jamie pronounced. “Three o’clock. For a wedding.”
The woman scowled. “Aye – that’s all we do on this floor. Weddings.” She made a note in her ledger. “Do ye have yer own witness?”
“Yes – he’ll be along presently.” As if on cue, the elevator chimed and Murtagh stepped through.
The clerk listlessly waved toward a battered bench on the other side of the landing. “Take a seat, then. Yer name will be called when it’s yer turn.”
Jamie thanked her and tugged Claire’s hand, leading them toward the bench. She watched him gingerly sit down, carefully keeping his legs as close to the bench as possible.
“I thought you said you didn’t care whether people saw your ballocks,” she whispered.
He smiled conspiratorially and brought his lips to her ear. “Aye, but I certainly dinna want that old bag to see them.” Claire noticed that one of his knees was quickly bouncing up and down. “She’s probably never seen a pair in her life – the shock of seeing mine would kill her.”
Murtagh gently pushed Jamie’s shoulder and they exchanged clearly rude remarks in the Gaidhlig. Claire sat up a bit straighter and drew in a deep breath.
“Are ye all right?” Jamie tilted her chin to meet his eyes, full of worry.
She touched his cheek. “I’m not leaving. Just – we’re here. It’s happening. Truly happening.”
He nodded. “I know. I – I canna wait for it, Claire.”
She touched his cheek, moved. “Just a bit longer, lad.”
He turned his head to kiss her palm, eyes locked on hers.
And he would have kissed her, right there, had the door not opened at that moment.
“Bowchamp and Fraser?”
Claire rose. “It’s pronounced Bee-cham, not – ”
“It doesna matter, Claire,” Jamie interrupted, setting a big hand at the small of her back and drawing her closer to the door. “Not for much longer, anyway.”
And together they stepped toward their future, Murtagh close behind them, grinning ear to ear like an idiot.
To Jamie, the ceremony was over almost as quickly as it began. Claire never let go of his hands. She was so captivating – her gorgeous face, her beautiful eyes. The bonny way her chest rose up and down with short breaths. How right his Mam’s pearls looked around her neck.
He said his vows. He was hers.
She said her vows. She was his.
Then Murtagh touched his elbow and handed him his Mam’s ring. The shock of cool metal after the warmth of Claire’s hands grounded him as he slipped the ring over her knuckle.
Then her small fingers slipped his ring onto the base of his finger. They smiled, giddily. And with the confirmation it was over, Jamie framed his wife’s face between his hands and kissed her properly.
He drew back only after Murtagh cleared his throat. Tears spilled from Claire’s beautiful eyes, and it would have bothered him had he not been blinking back his own tears.
No words could convey the gravity and euphoria and absolute joy of the moment.
Murtagh stepped between them and laid a hand on each of their shoulders. “Welcome to the family, Claire,” he said softly.
She gripped Murtagh’s hand and he gently raised it to his lips for a kiss.
Jamie thumped him on the arm. “She’s my wife, man. Dinna try to steal her from me now.”
Murtagh quirked one bushy eyebrow. “Dinna fash yerself, lad. She’ll never let herself be stolen. Now are ye ready for a wee bite?”