Dragonfly in Amber - Diana Gabaldon [276]
“I thought that odd, for I’d heard—who hasn’t?—that Colum is sore crippled, and Dougal does the chief’s work for him, collecting rents and settling claims—and leading the clan to battle, when needs be.”
“He does. But—” I hesitated, unsure how to describe that odd symbiotic relationship. “Well,” I said with a smile, “the closest I can come is to tell you that once I overheard them arguing, and Colum said to Dougal, ‘I’ll tell ye, if the brothers MacKenzie have but one cock and one brain between them, then I’m glad of my half of the bargain!’ ”
Jenny gave a sudden laugh of surprise, then stared at me, a speculative gleam deep in her blue eyes, so like her brother’s.
“Och, so that’s the way of it, is it? I did wonder once, hearing Dougal talk about Colum’s son, wee Hamish; he seemed a bit fonder than an uncle might be.”
“You’re quick, Jenny,” I said, staring back at her. “Very quick. It took me a long time to work that out, and I saw them every day for months.”
She shrugged modestly, but a small smile played about her lips.
“I listen,” she said simply. “To what folk say—and what they don’t. And people do gossip something terrible here in the Highlands. So”—she bit off a thread and spat the ends neatly into the palm of her hand—“tell me about Leoch. Folk say it’s big, but not so grand as Beauly or Kilravock.”
We worked and talked through the morning, moving from mending to winding wool for knitting, to laying out the pattern for a new baby dress for Maggie. The shouts from the boys outside ceased, to be replaced by murmurous noises and banging from the back of the house, suggesting that the younger male element had gotten cold and come to infest the kitchens, instead.
“I wonder will it snow soon?” Jenny said, with a glance at the window. “There’s wetness in the air; did ye see the haze over the loch this morning?”
I shook my head. “I hope not. That will make it hard for Jamie and Ian, coming back.” The village of Broch Mordha was less than ten miles from Lallybroch, but the way lay over steadily rising hills, with steep and rocky slopes, and the road was little more than a deer track.
In the event, it did snow, soon after noon, and the flakes kept swirling down long past nightfall.
“They’ll have stayed in Broch Mordha,” Jenny said, pulling her nightcapped head in from an inspection of the cloudy sky, with its snow-pink glow. “Dinna worry for them; they’ll be tucked up cozy in someone’s cottage for the night.” She smiled reassuringly at me as she pulled the shutters to. A sudden wail came from down the hall, and she picked up the skirts of her nightrobe with a muffled exclamation.
“Good night, Claire,” she called, already hurrying off on her maternal errand of mercy. “Sleep well.”
I usually did sleep well; in spite of the cold, damp climate, the house was tightly constructed, and the goosefeather bed was plentifully supplied with quilts. Tonight, though, I found myself restless without Jamie. The bed seemed vast and clammy, my legs twitchy, and my feet cold.
I tried lying on my back, hands lightly clasped across my ribs, eyes closed, breathing deep, to summon up a picture of Jamie; if I could imagine him there, breathing deeply in the dark beside me, perhaps I could fall asleep.
The sound of a cock crowing at full blast lifted me off the pillow, as though a stick of dynamite had been touched off beneath the bed.
“Idiot!” I said, every nerve in my body twanging from the shock. I got up and cracked the shutter. It had stopped snowing, but the sky was still pale with cloud, a uniform color from horizon to horizon. The rooster let loose another bellow in the hen-coop below.
“Shut up!” I said. “It’s the middle