Dragonfly in Amber - Diana Gabaldon [373]
“Dod,” he sputtered, gasping and wheezing. Face streaming with tears and saliva, he groped blindly for the small table by his chair, and dropped the teeth onto the cake plate. The gnarled fingers closed on a linen napkin, and he pressed it to his face, still emitting strangled grunts of laughter as he conducted his mopping up.
“Chritht, laddie,” he said at last, lisping heavily. “Path me the whithky.”
Eyebrows raised, Jamie took the decanter from the table behind him and passed it to his grandfather, who removed the stopper and gulped a substantial amount of the contents without bothering about the formality of a glass.
“You think you’re not a Frather?” he said, lowering the decanter and exhaling gustily. “Ha!” He leaned back once more, belly rising and falling rapidly as he caught his breath. He pointed a long, skinny finger at Jamie.
“Your own father thtood right where you’re thstanding, laddie, and told me jutht what you did, the day he left Beaufort Cathtle once and for all.” The old man was growing calmer now; he coughed several times and wiped his face again.
“Did ye know that I’d tried to thtop your parents’ marriage by claiming that Ellen MacKenzie’s child wathn’t Brian’s?”
“Aye, I knew.” Jamie was leaning back on the table again, surveying his grandfather through narrowed eyes.
Lord Lovat snorted. “I’ll not thay there’s been always goodwill atween me and mine, but I know my thons. And my grandthons,” he added pointedly. “De’il take me and I think any one of ’em could be a cuckold, nay more than I could.”
Jamie didn’t turn a hair, but I couldn’t stop myself from glancing away from the old man. I found myself staring at his discarded teeth, the stained beechwood gleaming wetly amid the cake crumbs. Luckily Lord Lovat hadn’t noticed my slight motion.
He went on, serious once more. “Now, then. Dougal MacKenzie of Leoch hath declared for Charles. D’ye call him your chief? Is that what ye’re telling me—that ye’ve given him an oath?”
“No. I havena sworn to anyone.”
“Not even Charles?” The old man was fast, pouncing on this like a cat on a mouse. I could almost see his tail twitch as he watched Jamie, slanted eyes deep-set and gleaming under crepey lids.
Jamie’s eyes were fixed on the leaping flames, his shadow motionless on the wall behind him.
“He hasna asked me.” This was true. Charles had had no need to request an oath from Jamie—having precluded the necessity by signing Jamie’s name to his Bond of Association. Still, I knew that he had not, in fact, given his word to Charles was important to Jamie. If he must betray the man, let it not be as an acknowledged chief. The idea that the entire world thought such an oath existed was a matter of much less concern.
Simon grunted again. Without his false teeth, his nose and chin came close together, making the lower half of his face oddly foreshortened.
“Then nothing hampers you to thwear to me, as chief of your clan,” he said quietly. The twitching tail was less visible, but still there. I could almost hear the thoughts in his head, gliding round on padded feet. With Jamie’s loyalty sworn to him, rather than Charles, Lovat’s power would be increased. As would his wealth, with a share of the income from Lallybroch that he might claim as his chieftain’s due. The prospect of a dukedom drew slightly nearer, gleaming through the mist.
“Nothing save my own will,” Jamie agreed pleasantly. “But that’s some small obstacle, no?” His own eyes creased at the corners as they narrowed further.
“Mmphm.” Lovat’s eyes were almost closed, and he shook his head slowly from side to side. “Oh, aye, lad, you’re your father’s thon. Thtubborn as a block, and twith ath thtupid. I thould have known that Brian would thire nothing but fools from that harlot.”
Jamie reached forward and plucked the beechwood teeth from the plate. “Ye’d better put these back, ye auld gomerel,” he said rudely. “I canna understand