Dragonfly in Amber - Diana Gabaldon [295]
“Dinna let me prevent ye, Sassenach, and ye feel so inclined,” he responded. He hunched his shoulders slightly in pleasure as the comb slid through the thick, glossy strands. The firelight filled my hands with a cascade of sparks and golden streaks of fire. “Mm. Ye wouldna think it felt so nice to have someone comb your hair for ye.”
“Wait ’til I get to the rest of it,” I said, tweaking him familiarly and making him giggle. “Tempted though I am to try Murtagh’s suggestion instead.”
“Touch my cock hairs wi’ a torch, and you’ll get the same treatment,” he threatened. “What was it Louise de La Tour says bald lassies are?”
“Erotic.” I leaned forward and nipped the upper flange of one ear between my teeth.
“Mmmphm.”
“Well, tastes differ,” I said. “Chacun à son gout, and all that.”
“A bloody French sentiment, and I ever heard one.”
“Isn’t it, though?”
A loud, rolling growl interrupted my labors. I laid down the comb and peered ostentatiously into the tree-filled shadows.
“Either,” I said, “there are bears in this wood, or…why haven’t you eaten?”
“I was busy wi’ the beasts,” he answered. “One of the ponies has a cracked hoof and I had to bind it with a poultice. Not that I’ve so much appetite, what wi’ all this talk of eating lice.”
“What sort of poultice do you use on a horse’s hoof?” I asked, ignoring this remark.
“Different things; fresh dung will do in a pinch. I used chewed vetch leaves mixed wi’ honey this time.”
The saddlebags had been dumped by our private fire, near the edge of the small clearing where the men had erected my tent. While I would have been willing to sleep under the stars, as they did, I admitted to a certain thankfulness for the small privacy afforded me by the sheet of canvas. And, as Murtagh had pointed out with his customary bluntness, when I thanked him for his assistance in erecting the shelter, the arrangement was not solely for my benefit.
“And if he takes his ease between your thighs of a night, there’s none will grudge it to him,” the little clansman had said, with a jerk of the head toward Jamie, deep in conversation with several of the other men. “But there’s nay need to make the lads think ower-much o’ things they canna have, now is there?”
“Quite,” I said, with an edge to my voice. “Very thoughtful of you.”
One of his rare smiles curled the corner of the thin-lipped mouth.
“Och, quite,” he said.
A quick rummage through the saddlebags turned up a heel of cheese and several apples. I gave these to Jamie, who examined them dubiously.
“No bread?” he asked.
“There may be some in the other bag. Eat those first, though; they’re good for you.” He shared the Highlanders’ innate suspicion of fresh fruit and vegetables, though his great appetite made him willing to eat almost anything in extremity.
“Mm,” he said, taking a bite of one apple. “If ye say so, Sassenach.”
“I do say so. Look.” I pulled my lips back, baring my teeth. “How many women of my age do you know who still have all their teeth?”
A grin bared his own excellent teeth.
“Well, I’ll admit you’re verra well preserved, Sassenach, for such an auld crone.”
“Well nourished, is what I am,” I retorted. “Half the people on your estate are suffering from mild scurvy, and from what I’ve seen on the road, it’s even worse elsewhere. It’s vitamin C that prevents scurvy, and apples are full of it.”
He took the apple away from his mouth and frowned at it suspiciously.
“They are?”
“Yes, they are,” I said firmly. “So are most other kinds of plants—oranges and lemons are best, but of course you can’t get those here—but onions, cabbage, apples…eat something like that every day, and you won’t get scurvy. Even green herbs and meadow grass have vitamin C.”
“Mmphm. And that’s why deer dinna lose their teeth as they get old?”
“I daresay.”
He turned the apple to and fro, examining it critically, then shrugged.
“Aye, well,” he said, and took another bite.
I had just turned to fetch the bread when a faint crackling sound drew my attention. I caught sight from the corner of my eye of shadowy movement in