Dragonfly in Amber - Diana Gabaldon [429]
“Oh, God, Jamie, I’m glad of it!” I whispered.
He bowed his head over my hands. I turned my head to lay my cheek against his hair, and froze.
In the doorway, watching me with a look of absolute revulsion, was Dougal MacKenzie.
The last months had aged him; Rupert’s death, the sleepless nights of fruitless argument, the strains of the hard campaign, and now the bitterness of imminent defeat. There were gray hairs in the russet beard, a gray look to his skin, and deep lines in his face that had not been there in November. With a shock, I realized that he looked like his brother, Colum. He had wanted to lead, Dougal MacKenzie. Now he had inherited the chieftainship, and was paying its price.
“Filthy…traitorous…whoring…witch!”
Jamie jerked as though he had been shot, face gone white as the sleet outside. I sprang to my feet, overturning the bench with a clatter that echoed through the room.
Dougal MacKenzie advanced on me slowly, putting aside the folds of his cloak, so that the hilt of his sword was freed to his hand. I hadn’t heard the door behind me open; it must have stood ajar. How long had he been on the other side, listening?
“You,” he said softly. “I should have known it; from the first I saw ye, I should have known.” His eyes were fixed on me, something between horror and fury in the cloudy green depths.
There was a sudden stir in the air beside me; Jamie was there, a hand on my arm, urging me back behind him.
“Dougal,” he said. “It isna what ye think, man. It’s—”
“No?” Dougal cut in. His gaze left me for a second, and I shrank behind Jamie, grateful for the respite.
“Not what I think?” he said, still speaking softly. “I hear the woman urging ye to foul murder—to the murder of your Prince! Not only vile murder, but treason as well! And ye tell me I havena heard it?” He shook his head, the tangled russet curls lank and greasy on his shoulders. Like the rest of us, he was starving; the bones jutted in his face, but his eyes burned from their shadowy orbits.
“I dinna blame ye, lad,” he said. His voice was suddenly weary, and I remembered that he was a man in his fifties. “It isna your fault, Jamie. She’s bewitched ye—anyone can see that.” His mouth twisted as he looked again at me.
“Aye, I ken weel enough how it’s been for ye. She’s worked the same sorcery on me, betimes.” His eyes raked over me, burning. “A murdering, lying slut, would take a man by the cock and lead him to his doom, wi’ her claws sunk deep in his balls. That’s the spell that they lay on ye, lad—she and the other witch. Take ye to their beds and steal the soul from you as ye lie sleeping wi’ your head on their breasts. They take your soul, and eat your manhood, Jamie.”
His tongue darted out and wetted his lips. He was still staring at me, and his hand tightened on the hilt of his sword.
“Stand aside, laddie. I’ll free ye of the sassenach whore.”
Jamie stepped in front of me, momentarily blocking Dougal from my view.
“You’re tired, Dougal,” he said, speaking calmly, soothingly. “Tired, and hearin’ things, man. D’ye go down now. I shall—”
He had no chance to finish. Dougal wasn’t listening to him; the deep-set green eyes were fixed on my face, and the MacKenzie chief had drawn the dirk from its sheath at his waist.
“I shall cut your throat,” he said to me softly. “I should ha’ done it when first I saw ye. It would have saved us all a great grief.”
I wasn’t sure that he wasn’t right, but that didn’t mean I intended to let him remedy the matter. I took three quick steps back, and fetched up hard against the table.
“Get back, man!” Jamie thrust himself before me, holding up a shielding forearm as Dougal advanced on me.
The MacKenzie chieftain shook his head, bull-like, red-rimmed eyes fixed on me.
“She’s mine,” he said hoarsely. “Witch. Traitoress. Step aside, lad. I wouldna harm ye, but by God, if ye shield that woman, I shall kill you, too, foster son or no.”
He lunged past Jamie, grabbing my arm. Exhausted, starved, and aging