The market buzzed with life, the air filled with calls of traders, rattling carts, and the hum of bartering townsfolk. You walked beside Claire, casual but alert, your eyes scanning the busy street. Jamie was away, tending to some business, and so it fell to you to accompany your mother. She didn’t say it outright, but you knew she appreciated the security your presence offered—not that Claire Fraser ever seemed to need much protecting.

Claire handed a coin to a fruit seller, inspecting an apple before passing it to you. “Here, try this. You’ve barely eaten today,” she said with a small smile.

“Aye, thanks,” you muttered, biting into it. The apple was crisp and sweet, and you were just about to swallow when a heavy hand smacked your back, nearly making you choke. Staggering slightly, you shot the culprit an exhausted glare, trying to clear your throat.

“Aye, there he is! A Fraser, sure enough!” boomed Angus MacKinnon, his grin wide and his voice loud as ever.

Claire turned swiftly, her brow furrowing in alarm as she reached out to steady you. “For God’s sake, are you all right?” she asked, her tone sharp but tinged with concern.

You coughed once, finally managing to clear your throat, and waved her off with a shake of your head. “Och, m’fine, Mam. Jus’ thought I’d choke tae death in th’ middle o’ a market’s all,” you muttered, your tone dripping with dry humor.

Angus bellowed another laugh, slapping your shoulder again—thankfully, with less force this time. “Och, lad, ye’ve got yer faither’s face, sure, but I swear ye’ve Claire’s sharp tongue tae match!”