I was awoken on Boxing Day by Jamie as he gently tried to untangle his limbs from mine to get up. I grabbed at him sleepily, trying to pull him back into the warm comfort of the bed, but he dodged me easily with a laugh and stood up anyway.

"I think ye'd sleep forever, given the chance," he teased. I could hear his joints pop as he stretched luxuriously.

"Maybe," I allowed with a smile. "but it's not as pleasant without a giant Scot to keep me warm." He merely grinned and leaned down to give me a kiss before setting about getting dressed. I propped myself up on one elbow to watch. Despite the countless times I had seen him do it, I never seemed to tire of watching the careful way he put on his kilt each morning, preparing himself for the day. It had been one of the small things I had missed while in France, his kilt all to often set aside for more courtly attire.

"So do you do anything for Boxing Day here?" I asked as Jamie spread out his plaid and began to pleat it neatly. "I thought lords and ladies of estates were supposed to give their servants the day off and gave them boxes of food and money as a thank you."

"Aye, I've heard of such traditions for St. Stephen's Day. But hereabouts we tend to favor first-footing. Or at least that's how my father did it when I was a lad." He finished with his pleats and lay down atop the fabric to wrap it around himself and belt it in place.

"First-footing? What's that?"

"It's traditional for Hogmanay," he explained. "Or New Year's Eve I suppose ye'd call it. Wait a few more days and I'll tell ye all about it." He stood and finished tucking in the ends of his kilt to his satisfaction, then pulled on his waistcoat and jacket. When he sat back on the bed to pull on his boots, I tried to pull him back under the covers.

"You could stay and tell me about it now," I suggested, but he laughed and disentangled himself once more.

"There's nothing more I'd love to do than stay in bed with ye forever, mo nighean donn, but there's work to be done." He walked to the door and turned back to look at me still buried under the blankets. "Now get dressed and come downstairs so I can at least have breakfast with ye before I go."

0 0 0

On New Year's Eve, I emerged downstairs to find the entire household in a whirlwind of activity. Jamie had already headed out to work with Ian and Murtagh, but Jenny was leading Mrs. Crook and the other servants in a massive cleaning of the entire house.

"What brought all this on?" I asked Jenny as I tucked into my bowl of porridge.

"Ye canna start a new year off with a dirty house," she explained in the tone she always adopted when baffled by my ignorance of common things. "Ye have to start fresh. It's tradition."

As soon as I had finished eating, my bowl was whisked away to be scoured along with the rest of the kitchen and I was set to work as well. Jenny had me dusting and polishing every conceivable flat surface while she worked on scrubbing all of the windows until they gleamed. There were fireplaces to be emptied out, floors to be swept, linens to be changed, and a multitude of other tasks to be attended to before the day was done. I tried to enlist Fergus's help as well, but he muttered something about women's work and slipped outside to join the men when I wasn't looking.

It was a long day and I was worn out, but by the time the sun dropped behind the horizon, the house was pristine, looking as clean and tidy as I had ever seen it. We finished just as the men were coming back in from their own labors.

"Back, all of ye!" Jenny scolded, swooping down on them as soon as they set foot in the house. "I just cleaned these floors and I willna have ye tracking mud back in." They meekly retreated outside to stamp off their boots and were finally allowed back in.

Jamie greeted me with a kiss, the tip of his nose icy against my cheek.

"Ye look right knackered," he teased when he withdrew far enough to get a good look at me. "Do ye think ye'll make it through tonight?" Together we headed into the dining room for dinner.

"Oh, I'm staying up all right," I said with determination. "I haven't had trouble staying up until midnight since I was I child."

"Aye, but we'll be up a fair bit later than midnight. First-footing will take another few hours."

"A few hours?" I asked incredulously. "What exactly is this tradition you keep mentioning?"

"Well, the first visitor of the new year, the first-foot, is supposed to bring luck for the coming year. I always used to go around with my father after midnight to visit all the tenants. It does take a long while, but it's good fun."

"Well it certainly looks like we have quite the night ahead of us."

We all tucked into a delicious meal of steak pie and roast potatoes which was very welcome after a long day of work. Everyone was in high spirits, even more so than they had been at Christmas. Jenny had been generous when pouring our wine and Ian seemed determined to keep our glasses topped off. The children were especially delighted by the black buns and honey balls that were served for dessert.

After we were all comfortably full, we moved into the living room and settled around the fire to relax and wait out the rest of the night. I found myself on the sofa sandwiched between Jamie and Fergus while Ian and Murtagh settled into armchairs. Jenny disappeared briefly to put Katherine to bed before returning to her own chair with wee Jamie in her lap. Even the two dogs, Bran and Luke came in to join us, sprawled contentedly on the rug in front of the hearth. Little Maggie went to sit with them and spent a long while happily scratching them behind the ears.

Jamie opened a bottle of port we had brought back with us from France and shared it around.

"Slainte mhath!" he toasted and we all chorus after him and drank. Cousin Jared really did sell good port.

After that we fell to talking, reminiscing over our happy memories and amusing stories from the past year. After all the anguish and heartbreak we had suffered in France, it was good to be reminded of pleasant memories we had from our time there and of the happiness that could be found in life.

"Wee Jamie learned this spring why it isna a good idea to chase the goslings," Ian started with a twinkle in his eye. Jenny snorted in fond remembrance.

"Rabbie and Luke were chasing them too," Jamie pouted, pointing accusingly at the little dog in question.

"Aye, they were," Ian agreed, "but they could both run faster than you when the mother geese chased after ye. It's usually only the slowest one that ends up getting bit." Jamie and Murtagh chuckled at that and I gathered they'd both been on the wrong side of some foul-tempered birds in their own day. Wee Jamie looked rather displeased that we were laughing at his expense.

"Dinna fash yerself over it, lad," Jamie said, taking pity on his nephew. "At least ye havena crossed that stubborn old donkey. I was limping for a week last time I was on the receiving end of one of his kicks." Wee Jamie giggled at that and all was well again.

Time slipped by and the tales continued, the storytellers getting livelier and the stories getting more embellished the more port we consumed. At one point Jamie, Murtagh, and Fergus subjected us to a rousing rendition of some French drinking song they had all learned at Madame Elise's. It was probably a good thing the small children hadn't yet learned any French.

Before we knew it, the small clock on the mantle chimed nine. By that time the port was gone and Fergus and wee Jamie were yawning in their seats. Little Maggie had long since fallen asleep in front of the hearth, still propped up against Bran's side. Jenny herded her children upstairs to bed, but Fergus protested that he wasn't tired and should be allowed to stay up. Jamie relented easily, more than a little tipsy and in too good a mood to argue. I too had a pleasantly buzzing head, but I was trying to pace myself so I could walk straight when we went out later.

While Jenny was upstairs, Ian disappeared and returned with a bottle of scotch to continue the celebration. Jamie happily took a glass, as did Jenny when she returned. She settled down once more and the stories continued. Jamie regaled us all with the tale of our memorable first encounter with the Duverney, the minister of finance.

"I didna ken who he was at the time and I didna care. I said to myself, 'Jamie, lad, ye canna stand by idle and watch this French fool make such advances towards yer wife right in front of ye.' So I threw him off the terrace and into the fountain."

At this Jenny completely dissolved into a fit of giggles. I looked at her, shocked. I had seen all sides of Jenny as I had come to know her; I had seen her kind and gentle with her children, stubborn and strong-headed in true Fraser fashion, and downright fierce with anyone who crossed her. Yet never had I seen such a display of unrestrained, undignified glee. I turned to Jamie for reassurance, but he seemed just as baffled by her reaction as I was.

"Have ye never seen a drunk woman before?" Ian asked, amused by our reactions.

"Aye, but never my sister," Jamie said, his voice laced with confusion. "Is she always like this?"

"Not often," he admitted with a wink. "But it's always best to appreciate this side of her when ye get the chance."

"She can still hear ye," Jenny glowered when she had regained enough composure to speak. "And she'll thank ye to stop talking about her like she's not there."

"Ah, there's the Jenny we know," Jamie teased. Her retaliatory threats were rather dampened in effect as she punctuated them with hiccups.

0 0 0

By the time it was a quarter to midnight, Jenny had suffered from several more attacks of the giggles. Murtagh's tirade about the failings of French fashion—"It's completely ridiculous! Ye canna move yer arms, the whole thing scratches with embroidery, it's all made of hideously colored silk! I'd go naked afore putting on such a ridiculous excuse for clothing ever again!"—set off a particularly prolonged fit of giggles that had us all laughing until our sides ached.

I was very comfortable and warm and pleasantly drunk where I sat pressed up against Jamie's side. Fergus had finally lost his battle against sleep about an hour previously and now dozed with his head propped against my shoulder. With midnight rapidly approaching, I nudged him awake and watched him struggle back into wakefulness. Jenny let her two girls sleep but allowed wee Jamie to come back down and join us. Ian poured another round of drinks for us all to toast with.

When the clock finally chimed midnight, we all gave a cheer.

"To the New Year!" Jamie toasted. We all chimed in with choruses of "Happy New Year!" and "Slainte mhath!", clinked our glasses, and drank. I eagerly awaited the tradition I thought we would all share, but it wasn't forthcoming.

"Aren't we all supposed to sing Auld Lang Syne now?" I asked finally.

"What, the poem?" Murtagh asked, his eyebrows quirked skeptically. Everyone else looked equally quizzical.

"I thought it was a Scots tradition to sing it for Hogmanay." I was surprised. In my time, the whole English speaking world and beyond seemed to have taken the tradition to heart.

"We've all heard the poem afore," Jamie mused. "It's an old one. But I dinna think I've heard it as a song."

"It goes something like this?" I hummed the first few bars.

"Oh, aye!" Ian said. "I think I ken the one ye mean. Never heard it paired with the poem though. But we can give it our best shot." So Ian led us in singing the song. As it turned out, the tune was not quite the one used in modern day, and some of the words were different than the ones I was used to. I enjoyed hearing the older version.

"Now, off for first-footing," Jamie announced happily.

"Who's to be the first-foot then?" Jenny asked, eyeing Jamie skeptically.

"Oh." He looked slightly crestfallen with realization.

"What's the matter?"

"The first-foot is supposed to be a tall, dark stranger. Fair or red hair is bad luck," he explained.

"Well I'm a tall, dark stranger," I pointed out.

"Aye, but it's also bad luck if it's a woman," Murtagh interjected.

"Well, Murtagh, it looks like you just volunteered yourself," I retorted.

"I'm no' headed back out into the cold," he laughed, claiming the bottle of scotch from Ian and settling back into his armchair. "You two have fun though."

"Ian?" Jamie asked desperately.

"You're laird. You should go," Ian declined. "Besides, my leg will thank me to stay out of the cold and I'll be here with Jenny in case anyone drops by here."

"How did you get around this in the past?" I asked.

"Our father had dark hair," Jenny answered. "Jamie went with him, but Father was always the first one across the threshold. And Ian has gone the last few years."

"What about me?" Fergus volunteered. We all turned to look at him.

"Well, yer no' tall, exactly," Jamie laughed, "but yer definitely a dark stranger. Ye'll do nicely."

And so it was decided. Before we set out, we collected several baskets of gifts to take with us. There was coal and salt and whiskey, as well as the shortbread and black buns Mrs. Crook had spent all day baking. Jamie explained that these were symbolic gifts brought by the first-foot to bring prosperity in the new year.

We headed out into the cold, the brisk wind bringing us thoroughly awake, and made our way to the first of the tenants' cottages. When our knock at the door was answered, Fergus eagerly bounded across the threshold and started distributing the gifts. We were warmly welcomed and offered a dram of whiskey.

A short while later we headed back out to visit the next cottage and repeat the process. We were out a long time but it was pleasant to see everyone in high spirits. We were cheerily hailed by other visitors we passed on the road and at every place we stopped we were greeted happily and toasted with whiskey. We weren't always the first visitors of the new year, but Jamie made sure to leave gifts at each place we stopped, taking the opportunity to make sure his tenants were faring well during the harsh winter months. He left extra coal and food where he felt it was especially needed.

By the time we had finished our rounds and were headed home, hours had passed and Fergus was half asleep on his feet. Jamie and I were quite drunk after the multitude of toasts we had shared and were leaning on each other for support as we stumbled down the icy road. When we finally made it back to Lallybroch, Jamie did little more than struggle out of his boots before he was sprawled across our bed, still fully clothed and already snoring. I was quick to join him.

0 0 0

I woke the next morning with a monstrous hangover, the likes of which I hadn't experienced in ages; it even rivaled the one I'd had on our wedding day. It took me several long moments to realize that I had been awoken by Jenny barging into our room with a bowl of water. Before I was fully aware of what was happening, she had sprinkled Jamie and me with the water, made sure our windows were firmly shut, and swept back out of the room.

"What was that all about?" I asked blearily, rolling over to look at Jamie. He looked about as terrible as I felt.

"Saining," he mumbled. He tried to explain it to me as he hauled himself out of bed and started dressing—something about a blessing with special water from a special ford—but my head was pounding too much for me to really focus on his words. As soon as he left the room to go downstairs, I burrowed back in the blankets and fell back asleep.

When I awoke again some unknown amount of time later, it was to the much more alarming smell of smoke. Coughing and with my eyes watering, I fumbled my way into my dressing gown and hurried downstairs. The smoke was even thicker in the main rooms, yet strangely everyone seemed to be completely unperturbed by it.

"Jamie, what on earth is going on?" I demanded, rushing over.

"Dinna fash yerself, Sassenach," he reassured me. "It's just juniper smoke to get rid of all the wee bugs and vermin. It'll clear out in just a bit." True to his word, when Jenny deemed we were all coughing and wheezing sufficiently, she had us throw open all the doors and windows in the house so the smoke could be replaced with the clean, cold air from outside.

After the house had been shut up again and I had dressed and driven my hangover to the background with another glass or two of whiskey, I found myself curled up on the sofa with Jamie. Apparently it was traditional to take New Year's Day off from work. I suspected it was so we could all recover from the previous night's festivities. We were both enjoying the extra rest.

"Happy New Year, mo nighean donn," he said softly, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

I didn't know what the future had in store for us. I worried that history play out as I knew it, that by the end of the year Scotland would march to war, that our entire world would be turned upside down in April of the following year. But I knew that if all this was destined to come to pass, I would make this year the happiest one I could make it.

"Happy New Year, Jamie."

A/N: Happy New Year! Thank you all for your patience while waiting for me to update. Obviously time management isn't my strong suit when it comes to writing. Thanks also to everybody who sent me nice comments. They make me ridiculously happy. Again, I apologize for any inaccuracies in my writing. I'm American so I'm not familiar with the traditions but I tried to keep everything as accurate as possible based on my research. Thanks for reading and best wishes to all of you this year!