Dragonfly in Amber - Diana Gabaldon [67]
I giggled and he grinned, putting a finger to his lips as the sound of Jared’s light footsteps came down the corridor, passing our door on his way to his own room.
Danger of discovery past, he came and stretched out beside me, wearing only his kilt and stockings.
“Not too bad?” he asked. “I can sleep in the dressing room, if it is. Or put my head out of the window for airing.”
I sniffed his hair, where the scent of tobacco lingered among the ruddy waves. The candlelight shot the red with strands of gold, and I ruffled my fingers through it, enjoying the thick softness of it, and the hard, solid feel of the bone beneath.
“No, it’s not too bad. You’re not worried about Jared leaving so soon, then?”
He kissed my forehead and lay down, head on the bolster. He smiled up at me, shaking his head.
“No. I’ve met all the chief customers and the captains, I know all the warehousemen and the officials, I’ve the price lists and the inventories committed to memory. What’s left to learn about the business I must just learn by trying; Jared canna teach me more.”
“And Prince Charles?”
He half-closed his eyes and gave a small grunt of resignation. “Aye, well. For that, I must trust to the mercy of God, not Jared. And I daresay it will be easier if Jared isn’t here to see what I’m doing.”
I lay down beside him, and he turned toward me, sliding an arm around my waist so that we lay close together.
“What shall we do?” I asked. “Have you any idea, Jamie?”
His breath was warm on my face, scented with brandy, and I tilted my head up to kiss him. His soft, wide mouth opened on mine, and he lingered in the kiss for a moment before answering.
“Oh, I’ve ideas,” he said, drawing back with a sigh. “God knows what they’ll amount to, but I’ve ideas.”
“Tell me.”
“Mmphm.” He settled himself more comfortably, turning on his back and cradling me in one arm, head on his shoulder.
“Well,” he began, “as I see it, it’s a matter of money, Sassenach.”
“Money? I should have thought it was a matter of politics. Don’t the French want James restored because it will cause the English trouble? From the little I recall, Louis wanted—will want”—I corrected myself—“Charles Stuart to distract King George from what Louis is up to in Brussels.”
“I daresay he does,” he said, “but restoring kings takes money. And Louis hasna got so much himself that he can be using it on the one hand to fight wars in Brussels, and on the other to finance invasions of England. You heard what Jared said about the Royal Treasury and the taxes?”
“Yes, but…”
“No, it isna Louis that will make it happen,” he said, instructing me. “Though he’s something to say about it, of course. No, there are other sources of money that James and Charles will be trying as well, and those are the French banking families, the Vatican, and the Spanish Court.”
“James covering the Vatican and the Spanish, and Charles the French bankers, you think?” I asked, interested.
He nodded, staring up at the carved panels of the ceiling. The walnut panels were a soft, light brown in the flickering candle-glow, darker rosettes and ribbons twining from each corner.
“Aye, I do. Uncle Alex showed me correspondence from His Majesty King James, and I should say the Spanish are his best opportunity, judging from that. The Pope’s compelled to support him, ye ken, as a Catholic monarch; Pope Clement supported James for a good many years, and now Clement’s dead, Benedict continues it, but not at such a high level. But both Philip of Spain and Louis are James’s cousins; it’s the obligation of Bourbon blood he calls on there.” He smiled wryly at me, sidelong. “And from the things I’ve seen, I can tell ye that