(This is my FAVORITE image of Jamie & Claire; it’s titled “Promise” by Captivated2 @ deviant art.com. See this & her other artwork that you can purchase prints of here.)
1. This scene from Outlander, chapter 13, really sealed Jamie’s personality for me. It captures his sense of humor:
He rubbed his chin, eyeing me dubiously. “Then there’s the minor difficulty that I’ve a price… on my head. No father much wants his daughter married to a man as may be arrested and hanged any time. Did ye think of that?”
I flapped my hand, dismissing the matter of outlawry as a minor consideration, compared to the whole monstrous idea. I had one last try.
“Does it bother you that I’m not a virgin?” He hesitated a moment before answering.
“Well, no,” he said slowly, “so long as it doesna bother you that I am.” He grinned at my drop-jawed expression, and backed toward the door.
“Reckon one of us should know what they’re doing,” he said. The door closed softly behind him, clearly the courtship was over.
2. Another scene from Outlander, chapter 22, which gives you a glimpse of the dynamic between Jamie & Claire:
This time it was his turn to laugh. He doubled over, then sat down at the roadside, fizzing with mirth. He slowly fell over backward and lay in the long grass, wheezing and choking. “What on earth is the matter with you?” I demanded, staring at him. At long last, he sat up, wiping his streaming eyes. He shook his head, gasping. “Murtagh was right about women. Sassenach, I risked my life for ye, committing theft, arson, assault, and murder into the bargain. In return for which ye call me names, insult my manhood, kick me in the ballocks and claw my face. Then I beat you half to death and tell ye all the most humiliating things have ever happened to me, and you say ye love me.” He laid his head on his knees and laughed some more. Finally he rose and held out a hand to me, wiping his eyes with the other. “You’re no verra sensible, Sassenach, but I like ye fine. Let’s go.”
3. What’s that? Not Steamy enough for you? Ok then, more from Outlander, chapter 23:
He spread my thighs with his knee, and sheathed himself to the root in a single thrust that made me gasp. He made a sound that was almost a groan, and gripped me tighter. “Youre mine, mo duinne,” he said softly, pressing himself into my depths. “Mine alone, now and forever. Mine, whether you will it or no.” I pulled against his grip, and sucked in my breath with a faint “ah” as he pressed even deeper. “Aye, I mean to use ye hard, my Sassenach,” he whispered. “I want to own you, to possess you, body and soul.” I struggled slightly and he pressed me down, hammering me, a solid, inexorable pounding that reached my womb with each stroke. “I mean to make you call me ‘Master’ Sassenach.” His soft voice was a threat of revenge for the agonies of the last minutes. “I mean to make you mine.” …
4. In honor of Valentine’s Day, here’s a little more romance, Outlander style, chapter 17:
“Does it ever stop? The wanting you?” His hand came around to caress my breast. “Even when I’ve just left ye, I want ye so much my chest feels tight and my fingers ache with wanting to touch ye again.” He cupped my face in the dark, thumbs stroking the arcs of my eyebrows. “When I hold ye between my two hands and feel you quiver like that, waitin’ for me to take you…Lord, I want to pleasure you ’til ye cry out under me and open yourself to me. And when I take my own pleasure from you, I feel as though I’ve given ye my soul along with my cock…
5. Just because, Outlander, chapter 27:
“Because I wanted you.” He turned from the window to face me. “More than I ever wanted anything in my life,” he added softly. I continued staring at him, dumbstruck. Whatever I had been expecting, it wasn’t this. Seeing my openmouthed expression, he continued lightly. “When I asked my da how ye knew which was the right woman, he told me when the time came, I’d have no doubt. And I didn’t. When I woke in the dark under that tree on the road to Leoch, with you sitting on my chest, cursing me for bleeding to death, I said to myself, ‘Jamie Fraser, for all ye canna see what she looks like, and for all she weighs as much as a good draft horse, this is the woman.'”
I started toward him, and he backed away, talking rapidly.
“I said to myself, ‘She’s mended ye twice in as many hours, me lad; life… amongst the MacKenzies being what it is, it might be as well to wed a woman as can stanch a wound and set broken bones.’ And I said to myself, ‘Jamie, lad, if her touch feels so bonny on your collarbone, imagine what it might feel like lower down…”
He dodged around a chair.
“Of course, I thought it might ha’ just been the effects of spending four months in a monastery, without benefit of female companionship, but then that ride through the dark together”–he paused to sigh theatrically, neatly evading my grab at his sleeve–“with that lovely broad arse wedged between my thighs”–he ducked a blow aimed at his left ear and sidestepped, getting a low table between us–“and that rock-solid head thumping me in the chest”–a small metal ornament bounced off his own head and went clanging to the floor–“I said to myself…” He was laughing so hard at this point that he had to gasp for breath between phrases. “Jamie…I said…for all she’s a Sassenach bitch…with a tongue like an adder’s …with a bum like that…what does it matter if she’s a f-face like a sh-sh-eep?”
I tripped him neatly and landed on his stomach with both knees as he hit the floor with a crash that shook the house.
“You mean to tell me that you married me out of love?” I demanded.
He raised his eyebrows, struggling to draw in breath. “Have I not…just been…saying so?”
6. This one from Dragonfly in Amber, chapter 40: (Jamie defending Claire’s honor is such a turn-on!)
(Young Simon Fraser, to Claire) “I’d heard of ye, you know,” he said. “You’ve a bit of fame through the Highlands, Mistress.”
“Oh really? How nice.” I tugged inconspicuously; in response, his hand tightened around mine in a grip that was nearly painful.”
“Oh aye. I’ve heard you’re verra popular with the men of your husband’s command,” he said, smiling so hard his eyes narrowed to dark-brown slits. “They call ye neo-geimnidh meala, I hear. That means ‘Mistress honeylips,’ ” he translated, seeing my look of bewilderment at the unfamiliar Gaelic.
“Why, thank you…” I began, but got no more than the first words out before Jamie’s fist crashed into Simon Junior’s jaw and sent his half-uncle reeling into a piecrust table, scattering sweetmeats and serving spoons across the polished slates with a terrific clatter.
He dressed like a gentleman, but he had a brawler’s instincts. Young simon rolled up onto his knees, fists clenched, and froze there. Jamie stood over him, fists doubled but loose, his stillness more menacing than open threat.
“No,” he said evenly, “she doesna have much Gaelic. And now that ye’ve proved it to everyone’s satisfaction, ye’ll kindly apologize to my wife, before I kick your teeth down your throat.” … *sigh*…