Season 7, Episode 1

A life well lost

By Valérie Gay-Corajoud

As always, the opening episode of a season has the onerous task of presenting us, in a few sequences, with the link between the past and the future.

And what better image to remind us of past dramas and what we can expect than Claire's hanging, even if it is fictitious?

No one is fooled, of course, yet the scene is moving, not so much because it's unfair, nor even because the vision of Richard Brown gloating over his victory is unbearable! No, if it grips us like this, it's because Claire resists. She hasn't given up the fight, she hasn't made up her mind. She loves Jamie! She has a family. Her life is ahead of her! In truth, she has so much to lose. That's why she's resisting even though there's no hope left.

I don't know about you, but I immediately assumed that this dream belonged to Claire, but in the end, I loved that it was Jamie's. It made this imaginary scene even better. It made this imaginary scene even more meaningful.

There's something on the order of fury in Jamie's immobility. As always, Sam Heughan perfectly masters the intensity of his gaze and knows how to convey the exact nature of the feelings running through his character.

Come," he says to Ian. Let's go get my wife.

I love the telling possessive.

How many times has he gone looking for her like this? How many times has someone wanted to take her away from him? But this time seems even more dramatic than the others, as this plot against his family feeds on the revolutionary chaos he's about to take part in.

We join Claire in her dark prison. This scene immediately follows that of the previous season's finale, since Claire still has her coat on and has just woken up her fellow inmate: Sadie Ferguson.

We're delighted to find the dialogue and descriptions from Diana's book almost word for word. It's a fidelity that persists throughout the episode.

The atmosphere of the prison is very well rendered. It's dark, it's cold, and above all, the women are isolated, not to say abandoned. For a time, Claire can relax, because, paradoxically, it's in this dungeon that she's safest.

Not for long, however, as two English soldiers soon come looking for "a healer". The guard at the door doesn't know why the prisoners have been sentenced. He only knows that among them is a forger and a murderer. Against all odds, Sadie Fergusson denounces herself as the murderer, without Claire being able to say anything.

Although the version is very faithful to the book, the writers were forced to cut it short. It's a pity, because Diana describes Sadie's character particularly well. We have time to discover her intelligence and manipulative tendencies, as well as her despair, her loneliness and... her need for tenderness.

In the episode, the reasons for her false denunciation are vaguely stated by a third inmate. In fact, she tells us, people accused of counterfeiting cannot be pardoned, whereas murderers can appeal to the Holy Word. In reality, it's the fact that the courts are closed and the judges are on the run that prevents the court from handing down such a heavy sentence. Sadie hopes that she will eventually be forgotten, or even set free by the revolutionaries.

In any case, the prison gates close behind Claire and the two soldiers.

While Jamie and Ian gallop across the fields to Wilmington, we meet up with Brianna and Roger. The latter is about to become a pastor under the tutelage of Reverend McMillan.

How to explain this without sounding too harsh... but Roger and Bree's appearances are tasteless, some bordering on the ridiculous.

What happened to Roger to make him lose his rhetoric? His intelligence? His integrity?

The couple head out to the prisoners who have been turned into ex-officio conscripts, so that Roger, as a veteran and future pastor, can bring them the word of God. Along the way, he tells Bree about his childhood, which was less wise than she had imagined, while she attempts a few humorous touches that fall flat. Even if the original version is less heavy-handed - "God luck" rather than "Good Luck"! - compared to the French version, which imposes an "en moins de Dieu" for "en moins de deux", one wonders what the point of such dialogue is at this point in the story.

It would be a mere detail if their conversation weren't so bland from start to finish.

Right down to Roger, at other times incredibly relevant, who loses his words in front of the conscripts, preferring to use those of Mohamed Ali!

"Fly like the butterfly, sting like the bee, and, rest assured, God will give you counsel".

Couldn't he have found someone more... shall we say... committed? His training as a historian is not lacking in philosophers and theologians!

But just when the conscripts have challenged him to say or do something useful, all he has to offer is a tasteless charade.

Of course, we soon realize that these anachronistic remarks only serve to reveal the presence of Wendigo Donner.

Wendigo. What to make of such a hopelessly pathetic character? As presented to us at this point, exhausted, emaciated, tied to a tree like a dog, he reminded me of Roger when he was chained and dragged through the forest by the Indians.

Who else but Roger could understand him?

Wendigo isn't evil. It's the painful circumstances of his life that have turned him into a poor wretch. Better still, he's a man of conviction, since his passage through time was motivated by his desire to save his people! Roger knows this.

That's what he says to Bree when, furious, she objects to his willingness to help the man who did nothing to save Claire from the atrocities Lionel Brown and his men inflicted on her.

"You would never have stood by and watched a woman being attacked," she tells him, sure of her facts. And we can understand this rage, born as much from what her mother endured, as from what she herself experienced with Bonnet.

But, interestingly enough, it's never quite that simple. There aren't always the guilty on one side and the innocent on the other.

"I watched Bonnet throw a little girl overboard when I was on the boat. And I watched her mother throw herself into the water afterwards. And even though I desperately wanted to intervene, I froze. I wanted to save them, but I couldn't. I had to fight the instinct inside me, because I had to stay alive to find you."

With nothing more to say, Bree walks away. For her, the debate is over.

Couldn't she have empathized a little with what her husband had gone through? Or at least admit that he was partly right? I suppose that wasn't the point.

In a subsequent scene, Roger joins his wife on the beach and announces that he has given up on freeing Donner. Instead, he has a solution! He's going to pray for him.

Far be it from me to offend people of faith, but in this particular context, it's simply indecent and, above all, bears no resemblance to the Roger we know, who has never hesitated to roll up his sleeves to help his fellow man.

We're even entitled to wonder whether Bree's smile and her offer to say that prayer right now are truly respectful. Perhaps she's smiling because she's got her wish!

I can't say for sure, but that's how sloppy this scene is and how out of sync it is with the rest of the episode.

As for Roger, does he really believe that his poor one-minute prayer will save poor Donner? And what does he choose? Does he, who is usually so intuitive when it comes to offering the most appropriate words? He asks God to help Donner help himself... to which Bree replies: You'll be a great pastor!

Pfff, I'm at a loss for words myself.

We leave the McKenzies to follow Jamie and Ian, desperate not to find Claire in prison. They meet Tom Christie, a faithful old dog, at a door behind which there is nothing left to guard.

Jailer Maisie Tolliver sends them to Fort Johnston, where her husband, the sheriff, has gone. But first, they take a moment to interrogate the soldiers at the brothel.

With Ian already inside, Jamie stops at the sight of a horse. He stares at it long enough for us to understand that it's important, yet we won't know any more about it for the moment. Finally, he joins his nephew.

We meet up with Claire on the Cruizer, Governor Josiah Martin's ship, anchored just off the harbor and literally shrouded in fog.

Shall we talk about that fog?

I mean, okay, it certainly has a scenic function (for example, to justify the Cruizer's inability to escape), or at the very least an aesthetic one (clearly, there are a few clichés that play on this particular atmosphere). Let's even admit that there was a meteorological reason - after all, this ship is on water! But they didn't pull any punches! Why didn't they create the fog Diana describes so well? Passengers can barely find their way within a few meters of each other!

Let's be clear, and get the subject out of the way once and for all so as not to weigh down the following comments, but this fog will be with us all the way, every day, every day! I even wonder if it's getting thicker and thicker. There, I've said it.

So, if Claire has been commissioned by the governor, it's to look after his ailing, pregnant wife.

In the book, Diana Gabaldon describes Mrs. Martin as an overweight woman with a strong character. The woman in the series, though outspoken, is so slight that it took me a while to notice her pregnancy.

I think it's a shame to overlook this physical characteristic, especially as her health concerns stem precisely from her ferocious appetite! Is it just another detail?

...

 A huge mass, which I guessed to be Mrs. Martin, the governor's wife, occupied the bed.

Dilman bowed to her and whispered my name. Mrs. Martin was plump - very plump, in fact, given her advanced pregnancy - with a small, pointed nose and a way of squinting her myopic eyes that reminded me of Madame Piquedru from Beatrix Potter's tales. In character, she was far less like her. She lifted a crumpled cap from the covers.

- Who's that?

Dilman curtsied again.

- The midwife, ma'am. Did you sleep well?

- Of course not! I couldn't sleep with that cursed child kneading my liver all the time. I threw up all night. My sheets are soaked with perspiration and I'm shivering with fever. I'm told there isn't a midwife in the whole country. Where did you find her, in the local prison?...

... Snow and Ashes, Chapter 92 - The Secretary.

To make up for this slight departure from the novel, the following dialogues follow Diana's almost word for word. Except for the omission of the bonnet detail. Indeed, before introducing her to the governor's wife, Claire is forced to wear the famous bonnet she has always refused to wear, much to Tom Christie's dismay.

...

- I've never met a murderer before.

She swallowed the last piece of toast and wiped her hands on the napkin.

- I'm not a murderer.

- Of course you're not going to say that I am. She picked up her cup of tea, watching me with interest.

- You don't look like a depraved person. That said, you don't look exactly respectable either...

Snow and Ashes , chapter 92 - The secretary

Before taking leave of each other, Madame Martine said to Claire:

- I won't say anything about the charges against you, if you don't say anything.

What's the implication? That Claire would say nothing about the charges against her? Or that Mme Martin wasn't ill, but had been sent a few too many "fortifiers"?

I couldn't decide.

Claire now faces the governor. A rather short, dry man, ill-tempered and visibly exhausted by the burdens he faces, namely governing the country with fire and blood while holed up in his ship.

He refuses Claire permission to leave the Cruizer to fetch medical supplies, she says. He suggests she write a list of what she needs.

Just then, Major McDonald is announced. You know the one! The one who's allergic to cats, the one who convinced Jamie to become an Indian agent, otherwise he'd give the job to the Brown brothers. Yes, there you go, hand it over.

Recognizing Claire, McDonald can't resist telling the governor about the murder charge she's facing and, to drive the point home, openly doubts the Fraser couple's loyalty to the crown. Obviously, he hasn't taken kindly to Jamie's resignation as Indian agent.

"You manipulative bastard!" she spits in his face as she lets him go.

Claire's chances of getting through to the Governor are diminishing still further, for, as he points out: "It's one thing to be accused of murder, but quite another to be suspected of treason!

We leave the Cruizer and its fog to find Tom Christie, sitting in the tavern, receiving the note written by Claire.

"Mrs. Fraser has assured us that you are the man best able to help her," the courier confides.

Words so sweet to hear for a Tom Christie literally transformed.

Did you notice that from then on, Tom started to smile? Right up to the very end, he's smiling, and that's incredibly touching from such a tormented character.

He reads the shopping list as if it were a love bill, even though the ingredients include "Vir meus"... my husband,

"I'm very happy to be of service to Mrs. Fraser, and to the crown," Tom replies, even though we all know that only Claire matters to him.

He leaves the tavern and finds Jamie to hand over the note and tell him where Claire is being held.

He's done his duty. Partly.

Here we are again on the Cruizer. Shall I tell you about the fog? No, OK.

Claire is on deck to claim a blanket for Madame Martin, so she has a front-row seat to see Jamie's boat arrive.

Time stands still. For her, for Jamie, for us too.

There's nothing around them anymore, and no fog is needed to make everything that doesn't concern them disappear.

Claire looks like a completely happy little girl, her happiness expressed on her beaming face.

Jamie is more discreet, but you can see it all in his eyes. His body is moving, moving, moving towards the soldier! But his gaze is anchored in that of his wife, alive, rediscovered at last.

...

"He came. I was up before dawn, having hardly slept, and stood on deck. The sea was practically deserted. The acrid smell of burning wood mingled with the scent of the nearby muddy marshes. The water was calm and oily. It was gray, and a thick mist floated over the waters, hiding the shoreline.

However, I couldn't help looking in his direction, and when a modest boat emerged from the mist, I knew at once that it was him. He was alone.

I gazed at the smooth gestures of his arms and the pull of his oars, and a great serenity came over me. I had no idea of the future, and all the horror and anger of Malva's death still lurked in the back of my mind, a black mass under a thin layer of ice. But there he was. Close enough for me to see his face as he turned it toward the ship.

I waved, but he'd already spotted me. He didn't stop rowing, but shifted his position to face the boat. I waited, clutching the railing.

The boat disappeared for a moment, passing to leeward of the Cruizer. I heard the lookout hail him and his barely audible response. At the sound of his voice, a knot deep inside me loosened. I remained prostrate, unable to move. On deck, there were footsteps and whispers, someone ran off to warn the governor, then I turned and fell into Jamie's arms.

- I knew you'd come," I whispered into the folds of his shirt.

He reeked of burnt, smoke, resin, turpentine, cold sweat and horses. He smelled like a man who hadn't slept, who'd worked hard all night. He gave off the scent of a long-unfulfilled hunger l held me close, letting me feel his ribs, his breath, his warmth and his muscles, then pulled away to stare at me. He'd been smiling since I first saw him in the boat. Without a word, he took off my cap and threw it overboard. He buried his fingers in my hair, swelling my curls, then took my head in his hands and kissed me. His three-day beard scraped my skin like sandpaper. His mouth smelled of home and security.

Behind him, a rifleman coughed.

- You wanted to see the governor, sir? He let go of me and turned around.

- Yes, I was.

He held out his hand.

- Sassenach?

As I followed the soldier, I looked back at my bonnet, tossed by the waves. It was full of air, looking as tranquil as a jellyfish.

This illusion of peace vanished as soon as we entered the governor's cabin.

"Snow and Ashes, Chapter 96: Gunpowder, Treachery and Bargaining.

I could almost copy the rest of the chapter for you, so faithful is the dialogue between Jamie and the Governor to Diana's writing. However, the writers have decided to keep Claire out of this meeting. I've yet to understand why.

Clearly, the Governor has been convinced by McDonald's assertions and refuses to hand Claire over to her husband. Yet, as Jamie points out, he has declared martial law for the entire region, so it would be legitimate to decide her fate. But clearly, he prefers to take advantage of this painful situation for the Frasers to propose a deal: if Jamie gathers 200 able-bodied men to join the English army, his wife will go free.

Jamie has already been blackmailed by Governor Tryon into keeping his house. We know this even before he confides in Ian: this time, he'll refuse.

Back on earth, Jamie and Ian go to the tavern and find Tom Christie apparently drunk, bottle in hand, even though we know he's a staunch teetotaler. Remember, he even refused to drink whisky while Claire was butchering his hand!

Here again, he smiles. It's amazing how that smile changes a man we've always known to be stern and uncompromising.

- I've had to fight my demons. But it's you. It's always you! You're the answer to my prayers," he tells Jamie.

- Have you been drinking a lot of whisky?

- You've got to help me. Please, please. I've got to do something.

Full of compassion, Jamie suggests we go outside and get some fresh air.

The ensuing conversation (absent from the book) is a marvel, and Mark Lewis-John's acting is no small part of it. I'm reporting it as it is in the French version.

- Over the years, I've seen men come to you and ask for your help. You've always agreed. Will you refuse to help me?

Jamie remains silent, attentive, curious and probably a little worried.

Tom resumes.

- Let me go on the Cruizer. Let me tell the governor what I've done. Let me look Mrs. Fraser in the eye one last time and make my confession.

We'd suspected Tom's ambiguous feelings for Claire for some time. But, undoubtedly helped by the whisky (which is surely why he breaks his religion), Tom opens up to Jamie with sincerity. He trusts him so much that he confesses to loving his wife. He doesn't say it, of course! But he does.

What bothered me, and it's a pity, because otherwise this scene would have been sublime from start to finish, is that at no point does Tom explain to Jamie "what he's done" and "what confession it's about".

Scripturally, I agree that it was important not to spoil the element of surprise so that we learn the truth when he confides in Claire. But this slightly hampers his discussion with Jamie.

Is Jamie supposed to know? Does he suspect anything? Is he respectful enough not to ask for more?

He reminds Christie of her promise to Claire on their wedding day to protect her name, her clan, her family and even her body. But Christie resists.

- I really think that if you let me join her, you'll honor your promise in the same way, just as you honored the promises you made to those of us who were at Ardsmuir.

It's no small thing for Tom Christie to refer to Ardsmuir, when at the time their relationship was strained to say the least. But it's obvious that something has happened to him. It's as if he's let go. That's often what happens when you've made a decision. You can let everything else go. That's why he's still smiling, because he knows what he has to do, he's no longer in conflict, not with himself, not with Jamie, not even with God.

Yet the assessment he makes of his life is disastrous: His name carries no weight in the world, he no longer has a clan, his family is destroyed.

- Let me go and do that," he begs again.

Again, he doesn't say much, but it's enough. It passes because Jamie's gaze (well, Sam's, but sometimes it's hard to tell the difference) is full of understanding. That's one of the many talents of this Scottish laird: knowing his men. And while he doesn't know all the ins and outs, he does understand that, one way or another, Tom is determined to sacrifice himself for his wife.

Before Tom speaks again, we hear the church bell ring, a religious symbol of Tom Christie's sacrifice. A symbol that must speak to both of us.

- Go ahead," says Jamie. Bring my wife back to me.

As if to confirm his desire for sacrifice, Tom asks Jamie what his eulogy would have been, if any.

- I would have said Thomas Christie was an honorable Scot. A leader of men, in his own way, though he didn't know where he was supposed to lead them. Stubborn as a damned mule. But, despite our differences, he was a man I respected, and for which I hope I got respect in return.

The look on Tom Christie's face at that moment was the epitome of happiness. My God, this man is touching!

We're back in the fog (rhôooo, I told you I'd never mention it again).

On the deck of the Cruizer, Claire expects the boat in the distance to bring her husband, but she eventually recognizes Tom.

We find the two of them in what appears to be Claire's bedroom.

This is where Tom Christie finally confides in us. And this is probably the most wonderful scene of the episode. It's an almost exact replica of chapter 97 - a profession of faith.

...

He stared at me in silence for long minutes, then gazed out over the grey water. He seemed to gather his courage.

- I've come to confess my guilt in the murder of my daughter.

I stared at him uncomprehendingly. Then I put his words together into a coherent sentence, read it over in my mind and finally understood.

- I don't believe you.

The shadow of a smile crept under his beard and disappeared immediately...

- I see you haven't lost your contradictory spirit.

- Have you fallen on your head or something? Is this Jamie's idea again? Because if it is...

He stopped me by grabbing my wrist. I flinched, not expecting this gesture.

- It's the truth," he said softly. I swear on the Holy Bible.

He held my gaze, and I realized that he had rarely looked at me until now. For as long as I'd known him, he'd always averted them, running away from me, as if refusing to acknowledge my existence, even when he was forced to speak to me.

But this time, his eyes were straight, filled with a gleam I'd never seen before. Ringed with wrinkles of pain and suffering, eyelids heavy with grief, his eyes themselves were as calm and deep as the sea beneath our feet. That mute horror, that paralyzing pain that had crushed him throughout our nightmarish journey south had left him, giving way to determination and something else... some feeling that burned deep in his soul.

- Why?" I asked at last.

He let go of my arm and took a step back.

- Do you remember you once asked me if I thought you were a witch?

- Yes, I remember," I replied, on guard. You replied that you believed in witches, but that I wasn't one.

He nodded, his dark gray eyes probing me. I wondered if he was reconsidering, but he wasn't. He continued in all seriousness:

- I believe in them because I've met them before. The girl was one, like her mother before her.

- The girl... you mean your daughter? Malva?

- She wasn't my daughter.

- But... her eyes... she had your eyes.

- She had my brother's eyes.

He turned towards the coast and rested his hands on the railing, his gaze lost in the distance.

- His name was Edgar. During the uprising, I sided with the Stuarts. Edgar was against it, saying it was madness. He begged me not to go.

He shook his head sadly, reliving his memories.

- I thought... Well, whatever I thought, I left. But first, I asked him to take care of my wife and the kid. Which he did.

- I see," I murmured.

He turned back to me, piercing me with his gray gaze.

- It wasn't his fault! Mona was a witch... an enchantress. I can see you don't believe me, but it's the truth. I caught her more than once, preparing her spells, watching the moon. One night, I went up to the roof at midnight, looking for her. Naked, she was staring at the stars, at the center of a pentacle traced with the blood of a dove she had strangled. Her hair was loose, flying in the wind.

- Her hair...

I understood then.

- She had hair like mine, didn't she?

He nodded, lowering his eyes.

- She was... what she was. I tried to save her... with prayer, with love. I failed.

- What happened to her?

I spoke in a low voice. With the expense, the risk of being overheard was slim, but I didn't want to divulge this kind of conversation.

- She was hanged," he replied in an almost detached tone. For the murder of my brother.

This had happened during Tom's imprisonment at Ardsmuir. She had written to him shortly before his execution, telling him that Malva had been born and that she had entrusted the two children to Edgar's widow.

- This must have amused her. Mona had a strange sense of humor.

I rubbed my arms, shivering.

- But you got them back... Allan and Malva...

...

- The girl... she wasn't even five when I first saw her, but she already had it in her... the same deviousness, the same charm, the same darkness in her soul.

He'd done his best to save her too, to beat the wickedness out of her, to contain her savagery and, above all, to prevent her from practicing her tricks on men.

- Her mother was the same way. She needed all men. They both carried Lilith's curse within them.

- But Malva was pregnant," I said.

Her face paled a little more, but her voice was firm.

- Yes, she was. But I don't think it's wrong to prevent another witch from coming into the world.

Seeing my expression, he continued before I could interrupt him.

- Did you know that she tried to kill you? Both of us.

- Kill me? But how?

- When you told her about those invisible things, the... the microbes, she was fascinated. She told me so herself, when I caught her with the bones.

A cold shiver ran down my spine.

- What bones?

- The ones she stole from Ephraim's tomb to cast a spell on your husband. She hadn't used them all and I found some in her sewing basket. When I beat her, she told me everything.

...

Are you sure?" I murmured.

He nodded without insisting, which convinced me.

- She wanted... Jamie?

He closed his eyes for a moment. The sun was rising behind us, and the surface of the water shone like a silver platter.

- She wanted... everything. She craved wealth, rank, what she considered freedom and not lust... She never saw lust in her actions!

He lost his temper, and it occurred to me that Malva wasn't the only one who didn't see things the way he did.

His love spell hadn't worked. The epidemic had come, and she had opted for more direct measures to achieve her ends. Although it was beyond me, I knew it was true. Then, finding herself pregnant, she had a new idea.

- Do you know who the father was?

My throat was in knots, as it probably would be every time I thought of the vegetable garden under the sun and the two bodies lying there. What a mess!

He nodded, avoiding my gaze. I deduced that he had at least a small idea, but that he wouldn't tell me. It no longer mattered. The governor would soon rise and receive him. Christie also heard the noises below deck.

...

- I've been waiting all my life, looking for...

He waved his free hand in the air, then closed his fingers as if he'd caught his thought on the fly. He resumed in a more confident tone:

- No, in hope. Hope for something I couldn't name, but never doubted existed.

His eyes scrutinized my face, intense, as if he were memorizing my every feature. Embarrassed by this scrutiny, I raised a hand, no doubt to tidy up my shaggy hair, but he caught it and held it back.

- Let go.

With both my hands trapped in his, I had little choice.

- Thomas... Mr Christie...

- I convinced myself that God was what I was looking for. Maybe he was. But God isn't made of flesh and blood, and God's love alone can't help me live. I wrote my confession.

He let go of one of my hands and pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket, holding it between his short, strong fingers.

- In it, I wrote that I had killed my daughter for the dishonor her debaucheries had brought me.

- It's not true," I said firmly. I know you didn't do it.

He stared at me, then answered in a detached tone:

- No, but I should have. I made a copy of my confession and sent it to the New Bern newspaper. They'll publish it. The governor will accept it - how could he do otherwise? - and you'll be free.

Those last three words stunned me. He was still holding my right hand. His thumb gently caressed my fingers. I wanted to free myself, but forced myself to remain motionless, constrained by his gaze, clear and naked, without the slightest disguise.

He continued softly:

- I've always dreamed of shared love. I've spent my life trying to give my love to people who don't deserve it. Let me have this pleasure of giving my life for someone who deserves it.

I was out of air. I stammered:

- Monsieur Chri... Tom. You mustn't. Your life... is precious. You can't waste it like this!

- I know you can't. If you didn't, there'd be no point...

...

In the book, her confession ends here.

In the series, Christie adds.

- Now I know I love you.

And although I'm a purist when it comes to literature, I think it's a very good idea, especially as, once again, Mark Lewis-John is simply amazing.

I hope you'll forgive me for this lengthy transcription of the book, but I find it so wonderful that I couldn't resist sharing it with you.

The next scene shows us Claire in the boat getting out of this damn fog to find Jamie who is impatiently waiting for her on the dock.

And there, I said to myself that this fog was perhaps a metaphor, like the bars of a prison that the sea has made for it. Perhaps the vagueness of her destiny, or again, this painfully impassable space that a pagan God would have placed between Claire and her husband. A fog that would only let her pass if a loving man sacrificed himself to set her free.

Eventually, Claire and Jamie are lying on the bed in their hostel room.

Side by side, still dressed, they don't come together as they usually do. Maybe because it would be inappropriate for Tom and also because they are simply exhausted.

Claire wonders why Tom sacrificed himself like this for her.

From Jamie's responses, we understand that he and Tom had a much more detailed conversation than the one we witnessed. It felt good to do that. Jamie therefore knew what Tom was going to confess.

“Tell me he didn’t confess to me,” Claire begs.

“He loves you,” Jamie replies simply.

He knows well what a man is ready to accomplish for Claire's sake.

He knows, and says it so well, that this sacrifice is not an injustice, but on the contrary, a gift that Claire gave him, by allowing him to offer her life to him. Act which gives all its meaning to the title of the episode: "A life well lost".

I thought that would be the last scene. It would have made a nice ending.

But, barely sleeping Claire, Jamie gets up quietly.

We find ourselves in another room of the inn in which Richard Brown enters.

Yes ! That's what was missing! This is to whom belonged this famous horse in front of which Jamie remained forbidden.

“I would have recognized him among a thousand. I stared at his ass for 350 kilometers, Jamie said sitting in a dark corner of the room.

From his hard gaze, it seems obvious that he came to kill him.

“If you touch one of my hairs, you will be chased by my men and they will kill everyone you care about.

“Just now, my nephew went to pay your men a little visit. They won't be a problem for us anymore.

“You are a man of great morals.

“I can be extremely violent. If there's an ounce of goodness in me, I owe it to my wife, and you tried to take it away from me.

“You won't kill me. You wouldn't dare.

“Make your peace with the lord now.

It's over with the Browns. Justice is done.