Dragonfly in Amber - Diana Gabaldon [288]
“Prove it,” he said. He cleared the chess table with a careless sweep of the hand, sat down and braced his elbow on the inlaid surface, fingers flexed for an offensive. Deep blue eyes glared up into Ian’s dark-brown ones, hot with the same anger.
Ian took half a second to appraise the situation, then jerked his head in a brief nod of acceptance, making his heavy sheaf of dark hair flop into his eyes.
With calm deliberation, he brushed it back, unfastened his cuff, and rolled his sleeve to the shoulder, turn by turn, never taking his eyes from his brother-in-law.
From where I stood, I could see Ian’s face, a little flushed under his tan, long, narrow chin set in determination. I couldn’t see Jamie’s face, but the determination was eloquently expressed by the line of back and shoulders.
The two men set their elbows carefully, maneuvering to find a good spot, rubbing back and forth with the point of the elbow to be sure the surface was not slippery.
With due ritual, Jamie spread his fingers, palm toward Ian. Ian carefully placed his own palm against it. The fingers matched, touching for a moment in a mirror image, then shifted, one to the right and one to the left, linked and clasping.
“Ready?” Jamie asked.
“Ready.” Ian’s voice was calm, but his eyes gleamed under the feathery brows.
The muscles tensed at once, all along the length of the two arms, springing into sharp definition as they shifted in their seats, seeking leverage.
Jenny caught my eye and rolled her eyes heavenward. Whatever she had been expecting of Jamie, it wasn’t this.
Both men were focused on the straining knot of fingers, to the exclusion of everything else. Both faces were deep red with exertion, sweat damping the hair on their temples, eyes bulging slightly with effort. Suddenly I saw Jamie’s gaze break from its concentration on the clenched fists as he saw Ian’s lips clamp tighter. Ian felt the shift, looked up, met Jamie’s eyes…and the two men burst into laughter.
The hands clung for a moment longer, locked in spasm, then fell apart.
“A draw, then,” said Jamie, pushing back a strand of sweat-damp hair. He shook his head good-naturedly at Ian.
“All right, man. If I could order ye, I wouldna do it. But I can ask, no? Will ye come with me?”
Ian dabbed at the side of his neck, where a runnel of sweat dampened his collar. His gaze roamed about the room, resting for a moment on Jenny. Her face was no paler than usual, but I could see the hasty pulse, beating just below the angle of her jaw. Ian stared at her intently as he rolled his sleeve down again, in careful turns. I could see a deep pink flush begin to rise from the neck of her gown.
Ian rubbed his jaw as though thinking, then turned toward Jamie and shook his head.
“No, my jo,” he said softly. “Ye need me here, and here I shall stay.” His eyes rested on Jenny, with Katherine held against her shoulder, and on small Maggie, clutching her mother’s skirt with grubby hands. And on me. Ian’s long mouth curled in a slight smile. “I shall stay here,” he repeated. “Guardin’ your weak side, man.”
* * *
“Jamie?”
“Aye?” The answer came at once; I knew he hadn’t been asleep, though he lay still as a figure carved on a tomb. It was moon-bright in the room, and I could see his face when I rose on my elbow; he was staring upward, as though he could see beyond the heavy beams to the open night and the stars beyond.
“You aren’t going to try to leave me behind, are you?” I wouldn’t have thought of asking were it not for the scene with Ian, earlier in the evening. For once it was settled that Ian would stay, Jamie had sat down with him to issue orders—choosing who would march with the laird to the aid of the Prince, who would stay behind to tend to animals and pasture and the maintenance of Lallybroch.
I knew it had been a wrenching process of decision, though he gave no sign of it, calmly discussing with Ian whether Ross the smith could be spared to