imagineclaireandjamie: Part I: The Crown Equerry | Part II: An Accidental Queen | Part III: Just…


Part I: The Crown Equerry | Part II: An Accidental Queen | Part III: Just Claire | Part IV: Foal | Part V: A Deal | Part VI: Vibrations|Part VII: Magnolias| Part VIII: Schoolmates | Part IX: A Queen’s Speech | Part X: Rare | Part XI: Watched | Part XII: A Day’s Anticipation | Part XIII: The Location | Part XV: Motorcycle | Part XV: Cabin

I have been so touched by your guys’ reaction to this story. These two are a departure from my usual take on Jamie and Claire, but I love them all the same.  Thanks for sticking with me and for sharing your love of them. 👑💜

small bit of ;nsfw beneath the cut

Her Royal Highness (H.R.H.)
Part XVI: Market

Claire hopped from foot to foot at the edge of a murky puddle as Jamie attempted to strong arm the shed door into sliding open.  His abashed declaration that he did not have an umbrella, bent at the waist in the front hall closet, led them to become creators together.  On the front porch, they tented a blanket over their heads before darting across the front lawn to the shed. It had been a completely ineffectual attempt to stay dry.  Laughing, he had fixed the blanket in her small fists before braving the rain to fight the door. It protested viciously before finally relenting with a groan.  Giving him a firm pat on the bottom, Claire slipped into the shed and groped along the wall for a light switch.  When she found it, the room sizzled to life beneath a yellow glow, revealing a seafoam green pickup with a chrome grill.

“It’s no’ much,” Jamie opined, rising to the door’s stubbornness with his own and pushing it the rest of the way open. “Pre-war, a bit rusty, but dependable. It should have a full tank and working heat.  Ye’d no’ thank me for a motorcycle ride in this weather.”

“It’s perfect.”  

He made a responsive Scottish noise of disbelief, followed her gaze to his father’s truck, and dried his hands on his trousers.  

“I mean it.  It’s perfect.”  

She ran a finger along the hood of the pickup, trying to remember the last time she had been alone in a car with a man.


Drivers.  Staff.  Never even with Lamb or her father.

The answer was that the Queen had never been alone in a car with a man. 

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